


Repro

by TwoBoys2Love



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1673957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoBoys2Love/pseuds/TwoBoys2Love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's feelings for his dead lover lead him to make a controversial decision. He engages a firm to make a clone of Sam and then has to go through the challenges of watching his lover relive a new version of his life in fast forward. He's not sure if he has a role in Sam's new life</p>
<p>Based on the movie "Womb" (Now titled "Clone") - written for LJ spn_cinema challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean was twelve years old when his father, John Winchester, came home one day and ruined his life. The summer that Dean had planned was a summer of playing ball with his friends, sneaking beer from the fridge and watching bad horror movies on TV.

What Dean faced instead was a summer at his Uncle Bobby's. His father had work, _important_ work, that he had to leave town for. He'd said that Dean would be happier staying at Bobby's rather than hanging around some camp all summer. It wasn't a total death-sentence on all fun because Bobby's place was near the ocean. The ocean was great but it would be even better if Dean could have taken his baseball team with him.

There was no point in arguing with his father. At twelve, Dean had already learned that John Winchester was a man of few words and fewer compromises.

That's how Dean found himself packing up his backpack and trying to find space for it in the trunk of his Dad's 1967 Chevy. His bike was in pieces and snugly arranged in the back seat so there wasn't a lot of available room. 

At least road trips with his Dad were fun. They involved a lot of food from diners, loud music and staying up late watching TV in motels rooms. He only got away with the latter though if he were able to convince his Dad that he was sleeping.

The drive took three days, three zombie movies, so many cheeseburgers that Dean almost got car sick and about fifty gas station bathrooms. Dean's Dad insisted they do everything the old-fashioned way. 

 

The first thing that Dean did when they pulled into Uncle Bobby's driveway was to roll down his window and hang outside. The ocean smell was everywhere and Dean thought he could taste salt on his lips. His dad told him that was crap, only he swore when he said it.

Dean was smart enough to know that he would get cuffed if he took off to the ocean without saying hi to his Uncle.

Fortunately for Dean, Bobby was on his front porch when they arrived. Dean shoved his door open and ran up the stairs. "Hey, Uncle Bobby."

Dean skidded to a halt by his Uncle's rocking chair. He wasn't sure if it was still okay for him to hug his Uncle. Now that he was twelve, his Dad said it was time for him to start acting like a man. Dean wasn't entirely sure exactly what that entailed but he was working on it.

He was relieved when his Uncle frowned then grabbed Dean's jacket and yanked him into a hug. "Don't go thinkin' you're ever old enough to get out of huggin' me, Boy."

Laughing happily, Dean clung to his Uncle's neck for a few more seconds. He remembered the way his Uncle's shirt smelled. He always smelled a little like the engines he was often working on.

"Uncle Bobby, can I work on some cars with you this summer? I still remember how to get the carburetor out."

Bobby messed with Dean's hair and shoved him back gently. "We'll see, Dean. I seem to recall you spendin' a lot of time down at the beach last time you visited."

"Yes, Sir," Dean said. "I do like the beach but I sure do love cars too."

"Hey, Bobby." John Winchester had a way of sneaking up behind Dean like some kind of comic book ninja.

"John. Good to see you. Drive alright?"

Dean tuned out the rest of the conversation because he saw some kids about his age racing by on bikes.

It looked like the kid in front was being chased. He had scruffy, dirty blonde hair, a ratty looking stretched out t-shirt and old jeans. He was peddling his ass off and his long legs kept him ahead of the other boys behind him.

"Dean!" his father said sharply. "Answer your Uncle when he asks you a question."

Of course, Dean had no idea what the question was. He pressed his lips together and scratched at the end of his nose.

"I asked if you were hungry, Dean. Got some of my chili cookin' for you and your Dad," Bobby said.

"Yes, Sir. I could eat."

For some reason that made his Dad laugh but Dean didn't waste much time thinking about it. He _absolutely_ remembered his Uncle's chili. It was _way_ better than when his Dad tried to make it.

"G'on in and get the bowls out for us. We'll eat before yer Dad takes off."

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Dean always slept well at his Uncle's. The window was always open because Uncle Bobby said fresh night air was good for the constitution. Dean wasn't sure what his constitution _was_ but he figured his Uncle was pretty smart.

In the small room that Dean thought of as _his_ , there was a dresser, a desk and a bed that was piled with old homemade blankets and quilts. Dean was pretty sure that his Uncle couldn't sew but then, he'd never asked where all the quilts came from.

Six blankets were usually just right for Dean to stay warm and still be able to keep his nose out in the cold sea air. His constitution probably looked pretty good after a few nights of sleep at Bobby's.

On the first morning Dean awoke in his home away from home, it was raining. Pulling the blankets around him, Dean leaned forward to look out the window. It was a very grey day; the clouds were all squashed up close together and looked angry.

The wind was blowing so hard that, every now and again, Dean felt raindrops on his cheeks. _Sideways_ rain usually stayed around for most of the day.

Rain never stopped Dean. He wriggled into his clothes, rushed through his breakfast and headed outside.

The gravel crunched under Dean's boots as he ran down the path to the ocean. He'd been going the same way as far back as he could remember traveling to Uncle Bobby's.

Even though the rain was cold, Dean ran all the way down to the pier. It made him feel a little more awake - like the times when Dad actually let him have coffee in the morning.

Under the pier there were some really good rocks to sit on and sometimes, people lost things while they were walking up above. Dean sat down and felt around in his pocket for the cookie he'd swiped from Bobby's.

Dean was busy counting the chocolate chips when he heard footsteps behind him. When he looked up he could see another boy.

It took a few moments but then Dean realized it was the same boy he'd seen riding his bike the day he arrived.

The kid looked about the same age as Dean, maybe a little younger. It was hard to tell because his long messy hair covered most of his face. He was _really_ tall too and way too skinny.

One of the things Dean _could_ see when the kid shook his hair out of his eyes was the strange shape of them. He looked a little like a fox peering out from a thicket. Unusual eyes for sure.

"I'm Sam. Who are you?"

As Dean stared, _Sam_ sat down on the closest rock. He pulled his sneaker off and shook some pebbles out of it before sliding back on.

"I'm Dean."

"Did you move here?"

Dean blinked a few times. The kid didn't seem shy or anything. "I'm visiting my Uncle."

Sam nodded like that was a very good answer. All his hair fell forward again and obscured his face from Dean's vision. 

"You have long hair."

The tall boy nodded and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. When he turned his head there was a _huge_ grin on his face.

The smile was probably one of the happiest ones Dean had ever seen. Sam even had dimples, and his teeth were as white as people in toothpaste commercials.

As he stared, Dean noticed Sam glancing longingly at the cookie. "Want some?"

Nodding enthusiastically, Sam wiped his hands clean on his jeans then took the cookie Dean held out. After a small bite he handed the cookie back. "Who made that?"

"Uncle Bobby." Dean took a bite and let it soften in his mouth. The chocolate was very sweet.

"Bobby Singer?"

Nodding, Dean held out the cookie again. "You know him?"

"Yeah. Well, no. I know who he is. My Mom calls him when her car needs fixin'."

It wasn't really surprising that Sam knew Bobby. It was a pretty small town. Most people knew Bobby 'cause of his being good with engines and stuff.

"What kind of car?"

"An old Dodge Dart," Sam said.

"What color?"

One of Sam's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Why?"

Dean shrugged. "Just curious." He collected the colors of things in his head, especially when it was a car he liked. Dodge darts looked kind of cool.

"When my dad left, he didn't take the car with him so Mom's had it a long time."

Dean smiled and snapped the remaining part of the cookie in half and handed Sam one of the pieces. "Where'd your dad go?"

Sam shrugged and didn't do a very good job of hiding the sadness of his face. "Don't know. He just packed up his stuff one day and drove off."

"Weird." Dean couldn't imagine his own father doing that. But then, Dean didn't have a mom to take care of him.

Sam just nodded as he munched on the last of the cookie. After he'd swallowed and wiped the crumbs off his face he smiled at Dean and stood. "I'd better go."

Dean had hoped the strange boy would stay longer but, at least, he seemed to be local. Dean smiled back; it was hard not to.

"Thanks for the cookie, Dean."

"You're welcome."

Sam took off; he was a really fast runner. If Dean saw him again he would ask if they could race each other.

"Bye," Dean murmured to himself.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

It was a couple of days before Dean saw Sam again. It had been raining all morning and he'd decided to stay in his room.

Something clicked against his bedroom window. Dean tilted his head and listened carefully then he leaned forward.

Down in the front yard was Sam. He was drenched, hands stuffed in the pockets of his unbuttoned rain jacket, cheeks red from the wind.

Dean pushed the window up and leaned out a little. "Hi."

"Dean!" Sam looked really pleased. "Come on. I've got something to show you."

Sam was already backing away from the house towards his bike. Finally, Dean nodded.

He wasn't going to have any fun unless he made some friends. At least Sam seemed cool.

Bobby had already helped Dean reassemble his bike so it was only about a minute before he was hopping on it and standing up to peddle so he could catch up to Sam.

Sam seemed to know all the paths really well. They wound their way through tall grass as the wind and rain whipped at their clothes.

Dean's fingers were cold but he didn't want to lose sight of Sam so he just kept pedaling faster and faster.

By the time they hit the pebbled beach, Dean was soaked through. His jean jacket was heavy with rain. The only thing on Dean's body that was dry were his feet, he'd never been more pleased that his boots were waterproof.

When Dean looked up he saw that Sam had stopped. There was an old boat turned up on its side and as Dean rode closer he saw Sam's mop of hair disappear behind it.

Dean dumped his bike beside Sam's and walked around the front end of the boat.

Sam was sitting inside the upturned boat on a box that looked like it might have held fishing gear once upon a time.

Dean sat down near Sam and took a look around. All the paint inside the boat was weathered, some of it peeling off in thin curls of color. Lots of sand and rocks had collected in the corners of the boat and it smelled a little old.

There was shelter from the wind and rain and Dean could still see the waves as they crashed against the shore so he liked it there. If the weather were warmer it would be the perfect place to camp.

"You find this?" Dean glanced over at Sam before looking back at the ocean.

"Yup. I ride all over. Usually by myself." Sam pulled his jacket tighter around him and shivered.

"It's real cold though," Dean said.

"Yeah. But the ocean is worth it, right? I wouldn't wanna live anywhere else."

There was a strange smile on Sam's face. It was like he was really tired and really awake at the same time. He looked certain that the ocean was the most perfect thing in the world.

Dean usually felt uncertain about everything so he wasn't sure he had ever looked like that, but it seemed like it was probably a nice way to feel … absolutely at home.

"I have lots of places. I can show you," Sam murmured. He looked over at Dean and grinned.

That smile was better than the ocean as far as Dean was concerned. He smiled back and elbowed Sam.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

The boys were never bored when they were together, but as the days of summer trickled past their activities seemed to get more and more unusual. They had collected bottle caps off the beach. They managed to get all the way to the corner store on their bikes without touching the ground. 

And, now, Dean found himself at the bottom of his Uncle's stairs poised to move. He could feel Sam's hand on his shoulder and warm breath on the back of his neck.

From where they were huddled, crouched on the bottom step near the front door, they could _just_ see Uncle Bobby in between the bannisters. Bobby always fell asleep in the afternoon. When Dean had asked him about it, he'd said he didn't _nap_ , and that Dean should mind his own business.

Earlier in the week, Sam had come up with a plan. It was decided that they would read comics up in Dean's room until around the time Bobby usually napped. Then they would creep down the stairs as quietly as they could. Always careful to plan ahead, Sam had mapped out which steps creaked. On the way up earlier, he had left a Smartie on each noisy stair. On the way down, they took turns eating the candies as they avoided making noise.

Sam was clever. Dean liked that about his new friend. It was easy to like Sam.

There was a snort from the living room and Dean's eyes widened. It was time.

Sam squeezed Dean's shoulder and they sneaked down off the bottom step. Their socked feet made no sound as they crept across the living room. Dean had promised Sam that he would memorize the creaks in the floor and he had spent a few days doing just that. 

Hand still on Dean's shoulder, Sam stayed close to Dean's side so he could be guided around creaking boards.

They moved slowly, eyes wide and pinned on Uncle Bobby. The old man's breathing was loud; there was no doubt that Bobby was asleep. 

Dean turned to wink at Sam and the tips of their noses bumped. Dean had to press his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Judging by the way Sam's shoulders were shaking, he was having the same problem.

There was no way that Dean could look at Sam's face or he was just going to lose it completely.

For a while, the two boys were stuck there, faces turning red with the effort it took to contain their laughter.

Bobby let out a particularly loud snort and both boys froze instantly. The urge to laugh fled and Dean crouched down close to the old hardwood floor.

Sam gave a firm nod and they set off again. Inch by inch they moved across the floor until they were crouched at Uncle Bobby's feet.

He looked a little different while he was asleep. The wrinkles that had showed up since the previous summer seemed to have faded away a little. When he was awake, Bobby always looked a little grumpy but during his nap he seemed almost happy.

A tap on Dean's shoulder started him. When he looked over at Sam, his friend pointed at Dean's back pocket.

Digging into his pocket Dean pulled out the old square magnifier that they had swiped off Uncle Bobby's desk earlier.

When Dean held it up he leaned forward so he could see Bobby's hand through it. His Uncle's skin looked like the cracks that Dean had seen in a dried up river bed. There were tiny hairs and brown marks that were like huge crazy freckles.

Dean leaned back and turned to stare wide-eyed at Sam. He held out the magnifier for Sam.

As he leaned forward, Sam pressed his lips together. Dean watched Sam study the back of Bobby's hand. He liked the way Sam's hair had little blonde flecks in it. It was all mixed up colors which was funny because Sam's eyes were all mixed up too. Every time Dean saw his friend's eyes they looked different. Sometimes, they were green, sometimes; they were a little brown or gold.

At first, Dean felt a little weird that he was noticing things about the way Sam looked. But they had been spending a lot of time together so he'd convinced himself it was normal. It was just like what his Dad had told him; he had to be aware of his surroundings.

Sam shifted until he was kneeling down and all his hair fell forward. Without a second thought, Dean reached out and tucked the hair back behind Sam's ear.

Sam looked over briefly, smiled, then turned his attention back to the magnifier.

For some reason, heat prickled at Dean's cheeks. He rubbed at them and sat back on his heels.

It looked like Sam was studying the dark green veins in Bobby's wrist.

Just as Dean was about to ask for another turn with the magnifier, Bobby let out a sharp snort and kicked a booted foot out in between the boys.

Sam fell to the side and Dean slid back out of the way. His heart was racing and he held his breath as he watched to see if Bobby was going to wake up.

Bobby snuffed in a huge breath and Dean grabbed Sam's t-shirt and pulled him back until they had both managed to scramble to their feet.

Socks slipping on the floor, they finally managed to race across the living room and head back up the stairs.

As soon as Dean's bedroom door was closed behind them he busted out laughing. Leaning back against the door, Dean was doubled over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

On the bed, Sam was rolling from side to side and groaning in between fits of laughter. He had a great laugh. 

When his poor body could no longer take it, Dean stumbled over to the bed and flopped down beside his friend. "That was-"

"Awesome," Sam finished. His smile was bright, cheeks flushed and his hair was tousled and all messed up.

Sam reached out and grabbed Dean's wrist to pull his arm closer. He held the magnifier over Dean's palm and leaned down to study his friend's hand.

At first, Dean's instinct had been to pull away. But then he'd realized that Sam wanted to look at _his_ skin.

He let his hand relax in Sam's warm grip. "What's it look like?"

Sam was chewing on his bottom lip, concentrating. "It's a lot smoother," he said thoughtfully. "There are tiny blonde hairs too - golden."

Frowning, Dean shifted a little closer as though he might be able to see.

Sam's hair fell forward and tickled the sensitive skin on Dean's wrist. Finally, Sam sat back. He set the magnifier down. "What d'ya wanna do next?"

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

As the weeks passed, Sam and Dean could nearly always be found together. They rode their bikes for hours along the roads, the beaches, as far as the town limits.

They buried all of Dean's little plastic army men in the sand around the abandoned boat. Sam had decided it would be a good idea to have them there in case aliens invaded. Dean wasn't sure that aliens would arrive by sea but he figured it couldn't hurt.

One day, Sam got some rotten apples from his Mom so they grabbed Dean's baseball bat and headed down to toward the ocean. The plan had been to knock them out to sea but It hadn't turned out to be a very _good_ plan. Sam pitched, Dean made a solid hit but most of the apple ended up all over Dean. If it hadn't been for Sam's belly laugh, Dean might have been annoyed.

The days passed and Dean began to forget all the reasons that he hadn't wanted to stay with Uncle Bobby.

More than half the summer had raced past when the biggest storm Dean had ever seen blew in. They'd been out on their bikes and retreated back to Bobby's quickly.

Uncle Bobby seemed relieved to see them and set them up at the kitchen table with hot chocolates and oatmeal cookies.

They all talked about the storm. Uncle Bobby told the boys about the time he'd been out on a fishing boat and nearly drowned when he'd been pulled overboard by a rogue wave.

By the time they'd eaten all the cookies, Uncle Bobby said he needed them out of the kitchen so that he could start dinner. That sent the two boys racing upstairs to Dean's room.

Dean pulled out his chess set and put the Board in the middle of the bed. He and Sam had played Chess often over the summer. They played differently. Dean always tried to think a few moves ahead like his Dad had taught him. Sam seemed to play more by instinct. The moves that Sam made were, sometimes, reckless but occasionally that paid off.

The only break they took was to eat dinner. Even then they asked to be excused from the table the moment they were finished. Bobby rolled his eyes and sent them tearing back upstairs with a wave of his hand.

Uncle Bobby didn't come to check on them until Sam's mom called to see if Sam needed a ride home.

When the door cracked open, Dean was sitting cross-legged on his bed and Sam was passed out beside him.

Bobby had his cell phone pressed to his ear. "Yeah, Ms. Campbell. Your Sam's asleep. You want I should wake him and drive him home?"

Dean shook his head and mouthed, _Please._

"Yes, Ma'am. It's never a problem to have Sam here. He can stay in Dean's room." Bobby smiled at Dean and flicked the light out then closed the door again.

Dean listened as Bobby said goodbye to Ms. Campbell and as boots clumped back down the stairs.

"Is he gone?" Sam whispered.

"Yup, but we gotta keep it down or he-" One of Dean's pillows slammed into his face. The force of the blow sent him tumbling off the bed. He was already choking as he tried not to laugh out loud.

When he managed to get his feet back under him, Dean pulled into a crouch so he could launch himself back onto the bed. He managed to get in a couple of good whacks with the other pillow before Sam wrestled it out of his hands.

They fought for a while until they were both panting. At long last, Sam just flopped forward across Dean's body.

Dean laughed again, his breathing a little slower.

"Shhh." Sam rested his ear against Dean's chest, his fingers tapping out the rhythm of Dean's heartbeat.

Dean's brow furrowed and he took a deep breath. He concentrated on the rhythm of Sam's fingers against his chest for a while, thinking. Then he lifted his arm tentatively and smoothed his hand over Sam's shiny, smooth hair.

It felt nice. It was surprisingly warm and _way_ more smooth that his own. Sam slid his arm over Dean's waist and nestled down under the covers.

It felt nice, warm and, for some reason Dean felt really tired. It was different to fall asleep in the small bed with someone else there. It was especially strange falling asleep with Sam in his bed.

But, sleep, arrived anyway, without without Dean's permission. As he closed his eyes, Dean slid his hand down to cup the base of Sam's skull.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

With the end of the summer in sight, Dean no longer wanted to head back home. Even though a summer at Bobby's had seemed like a prison sentence meeting Sam had changed everything. Very soon, it would be time for Dean to leave and he wasn't ready. He didn't want his time with Sam to end.

He refused to dwell on his thoughts of leaving Uncle Bobby's though. Instead, he threw himself into his friendship with Sam.

Sam made pretty much everything more interesting. Even snails.

It was a Thursday afternoon and all Dean could see were Sam's eyes. The other boy was sitting cross-legged on the floor peering over the edge of the coffee table, his eyes wide as he stared at a small snail shell in the middle of the table.

Dean was on the other side of the table, his eyes also on the earth-toned shell. The shell swirled in on itself but Dean couldn't tell where it started and where it ended. Like a never-ending spiral.

The tips of Sam's fingers appeared on the edge of the table and he pulled himself up a little higher.

Dean watched as Sam's long lashes dropped to his cheeks a few times. He wasn't sure what Sam was staring at.

Sam rolled his lips together for a few moments then his arm slid forward until he could touch the shell. "I wonder what he's thinking about."

"Not much, I don't think."

"Bet he is," Sam said. "All he's seen before is leaves and grass and now he's on a table. I bet he can't even figure out what it is."

"I hadn't thought of it that way." That was one of the things that Dean liked about Sam. He thought about things differently. If there was a way to look at something, Sam would turn everything upside down. It was like he _had_ to know every side of something, looking all around an object to know it. Knowing things seemed real important to Sam. 

Sam's long, thin arm withdrew and reappeared with a matchbox. With the tip of one finger, Sam pushed it towards the snail. "I made him a house. Even though I figure he's already got one."

Resting his chin on the table, Dean thought about it for a while. The snail did have a home, but the matchbox was a good idea. It might prevent him from getting hurt or crushed.

Dean focused on Sam's face. "Do you think my Uncle Bobby will let him stay inside?"

"Can't you hide 'im?" Sam looked a little worried.

"You keep him at your house," Dean said. There was more going on in his mind that he had shared with Sam, which was odd because since the moment they'd met they'd been telling each other everything. Now - Dean was discovering how difficult it was to keep something from a close friend.

"I will," Sam answered. "Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

Dean didn't really want to answer that question. "Wanna play chess? We could put him on the board and see what he does."

"Yes!" Sam stood and raced off to retrieve the game.

 _That_ would keep them busy for a long while.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Just like most of the days they spent together, Thursday passed quickly. After a few games of Chess, the boys went back to Sam's house. Sam wanted to get the snail settled for the evening.

Dean sat on the edge of Sam's bed and looked around. He was trying to remember it all so, when he was gone, he could imagine where Sam was, remember what he might be doing. In some strange way, that made Dean feel better.

"You've been really quiet today, Dean." Sam was building a rather large enclosure for the snail with Lego. He'd said earlier that he was trying to use as many colors of pieces as he could find because he wanted to give the snail a lot to look at.

"Just thinking about things," Dean answered vaguely.

Even though Sam didn't question Dean's answer, he did smile knowingly. Dean wasn't exactly sure what Sam thought he knew.

The wind rattled Sam's bedroom window and Dean looked over. The sky was dark with rain clouds.

As though she was able to sense Dean's thoughts, Sam's mom knocked on the bedroom door. She poked her head around the door. "Dean? Honey?"

"Yes, Ms. Campbell?" Dean smiled. He liked Sam's mama. She was very pretty with her long blonde hair and slightly upturned nose. Her eyes were shaped just like Sam's and she smiled the same way.

"Your Uncle Bobby phoned. He wants you to head back home before the storm hits."

"Yes, Ma'am. I'll just say goodbye to Sam." Dean's heart felt like there were little cracks appearing in it.

"Okay. Take care, Dean."

Ms. Campbell closed Sam's door again and when Dean looked over, Sam was staring at him.

"When you come over tomorrow, Dean, we should take the snail to the beach. I bet he would think he was on a completely different planet." Sam laughed a little as he picked the snail up and set him in the Lego fortress.

"I won't be coming tomorrow," Dean said softly.

Sam was quiet for a while then he looked over at Dean. "How come?"

"I'm goin' away," Dean answered. It made him feel a little like a hole had opened up in the middle of his chest.

Sam's voice was very quiet when he spoke again. "Are you going home?"

Nodding slowly, Dean looked down at his hands where they were clasped in his lap. "Dad's coming' to pick me up. He phoned a few nights ago and said we're moving to Texas."

"That sure is a long way from here," Sam said quietly. "No ocean?"

"Not where we're goin'," Dean answered. "He says we're gonna live on the fourth floor. And there's a pool."

"I'll miss you."

It didn't seem like there was much room left in Dean's heart for more cracks but it sure felt like another one appeared. "I better go. Me and Uncle Bobby are gonna have dinner together and I gotta pack."

Sam stood slowly and waited by the door. "Okay."

When Dean stood, his legs were a little shaky. He was probably tired or something, but he leaned against the bed for a few moments until he felt better.

He walked over to the door and stood there a while looking down at the snail. "We should have given him a name."

Sam smiled. "He already has one; he just can't tell us what it is."

In the strange way he'd come to expect from Sam, that actually made sense. Dean smiled and shook his head at the crazy way Sam's mind worked.

Sam turned quickly and his smile faded a little. He moved forward suddenly and his lips bumped into Dean's really hard. Dean's eyes closed on reflex and Sam's head tilted and his lips brushed across Dean's before disappearing.

When Dean opened his eyes, Sam was smiling shyly. Dean touched his fingers to his lips for a second then slid his hands into his pockets. He smiled crookedly. "Well, I'd better go. Bye, Sam."

"Bye, Dean."

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Dean was soaked by the time he got home. _Home_. All that was going to change in the morning. Soon after he arrived at his Uncle's he was eating dinner. Bobby had gone all out because it was Dean's last night. There was apple pie and ice cream for dessert. Apple pie was Dean's favorite.

After dinner, Dean headed up to his room to pack. He didn't have all that much but it took him a while. Dean got everything ready for the long road trip; he charged up his phone, packed his bag neatly and then tidied up the room.

He was sitting on the side of his bed feeling a little glum when his phone rang. He figured it was his Dad to tell him when he'd be arriving.

Dean leaned down and grabbed his phone so he could unlock it. "Hello?"

"Dean!" Most of what came out of the speaker on his phone sounded like wind and rain. There was a loud crash that sounded like a wave crashing against the shore. 

"Hello?"

"Dean! I have an idea." Sam's voice was broken up by the sounds of the storm that was raging outside.

"Where are you, Sam?"

"I came down…" There was a crackle on the phone. "Ocean. Wanted to watch the storm."   
Another wave crashed and Dean held the phone away from his ear a little as the wind roared. 

"Aren't you cold?" Dean yelled into the phone. He was sure he could hear Sam's light-hearted laughter.

"I'm fine. I love storms. When do you leave tomorrow?"

"Last I heard, Dad was coming in tonight late, so we can leave first thing in the morning. Knowing my Dad, eight or so." Dean knew his Dad would want to be on the road bright and early.

"Okay. I'll meet you at Bobby's before you leave. I have a good idea."

Dean laughed. Sam always had good ideas. "Bye, Sam. See you tomorrow."

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Just as Dean had predicted, his Dad had arrived in the middle of the night, long after Dean had gone to bed.

At dawn, John Winchester had banged on Dean's bedroom door and hollered that Bobby had made them breakfast.

The whole morning was a bit of a blur. Dean dragged himself and his stuff downstairs. He ate breakfast so fast that he didn't even really taste it.

Then it was already eight thirty and Dean was outside, standing by the car shivering. The storm had blown itself out overnight but the skies were still dark.

Dean waited outside for fifteen minutes, looking down the street for the familiar sight of Sam on his bike. He called him twice, left messages but there was no answer. Finally, his dad strode out and settled behind the wheel of the car.

There was a little time left for Sam to show up and Dean tried to stretch it out as much as he could. He ran back inside to say goodbye to his Uncle again. He walked back out as slowly as he could and stopped by the trunk of the car. His eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of Sam but there was none.

A little cold, more than a little sad, Dean headed over to the car and pulled the door open.

"Ready to go, Dean?"

Dean nodded and stared out the window. He was going to really miss being there. He was going to really miss _Sam._

 **XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx** 12 YEARS LATER **XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Dean opened the door to Bobby's house with the keys he'd picked up from the estate lawyer. It all seemed a little unreal. He'd lost his father just the year before and then the call had come about Bobby's passing a week ago.

Rather suddenly, Dean had found himself independently wealthy and the new owner of Bobby's home by the sea. It was a big change, but not an unwelcome one.

The old house had kept up well over the years. It looked very similar to how Dean remembered it. Things just seemed a little smaller than when he'd been a kid. But then, Dean wasn't a kid anymore and he was more than a foot taller.

The first thing Dean did was unpack; the second thing he did was make a grocery list. Then he pulled on his jacket and headed out to walk to the store.

The town looked as though it had been stopped in time. Some of the houses looked a little different but it was just like Dean had been walking there the day before.

He was about fifteen minutes from Bobby's when he saw another familiar house. He smiled and as his eyes scanned over the front yard he saw a woman crouched down by the roses.

She looked to be about fifty years old, her hair was short, tucked behind her ears. But when she turned slightly, Dean recognized her immediately. _Mary Campbell_. Sam's mother.

"I'll be damned," Dean muttered under his breath.

Mary looked up as though sensing eyes on her. "Hello?"

A little embarrassed at being caught watching her, Dean walked over to the fence. "Hi, Ms. Campbell." 

She smiled even though she, obviously, had no idea who Dean was. "Do I know you?"

"Well, sort of." Dean took a step closer. "You knew my Uncle Bobby."

Mary's eyes brightened and she grinned. "Dean! The little boy who went to Texas."

Dean smiled and nodded.

"Sam nagged me for weeks about going to Texas. But, you know how kids are. Eventually, he forgot." Mary wiped her hands on her jeans.

It was really stupid but Dean actually felt a little sad. But Mary was right, kids were like that. "Ms. Campbell, is Sam home?"

"Oh goodness, Dean. Sam hasn't lived here for years. Always wanted to live closer to the ocean and that's what he did as soon as he could."

"Oh," Dean said. It had seemed a long shot that Sam might still be around.

"Would you like his address? It's only a fifteen minute walk from here."

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

The 'cottage' Sam lived in was a little run down. It was quirky though and that fitted with the idea of _Sam_ that Dean still carried with him.

The mailbox was painted with psychedelic looking swirls. There were three different sets of wind chimes on the short front porch and there was a bright red rocking chair. It stood out like a sore thumb against the light blue backdrop of the house paint.

There was a husky lying in the front yard; Dean didn't notice until he opened the gate.

The dog lifted its head, sniffing in Dean's general direction. Then, seemingly satisfied, he laid his head back down on his paws and huffed.

Dean shrugged and headed over to the door. It was wide open so Dean poked his head inside. It was a small house. Dean was standing in a main room; there was a back door, a small kitchen area, a bathroom off to the side and a closed door that was probably a bedroom.

There was rather a lot of paper on the table in the middle of the room. There was a silver laptop on one end and it was covered in stickers.

"Who are you? What are you doing?"

Dean lurched forward as a shot of adrenaline burst into his veins. "I'm looking for Sam."

"I'm Sam." The _man_ standing in the room had changed a great deal from the young boy that Dean had known. Sam was now a few inches taller than Dean, probably six foot five. His hair had darkened but there were still blonde highlights in it. He was thin but muscular, and looked like he'd spent a lot of time in the sun. His eyes, though, were _just_ as Dean remembered them.

"Hi, Sam," Dean said a little gruffly. The tightness in his throat was a strange combination of emotion and fear.

For a while, Sam just stared. His head tilted a little to the side as though he was scanning old memories. Then, his eyebrows lifted and his eyes widened slightly.

"How was Texas?" Sam asked.

Dean managed a smile. "Okay."

Sam took a few steps closer. "How many years has it been?"

"About twelve," Dean answered. "Why didn't you come to see me off?"

"I slept in," Sam said. He looked a little sheepish. "But, I'm awake now."

Dean's smile became a grin.

"Sit," Sam said. He went to the table and sat down, pushing his laptop and some papers aside.

Still grinning, Dean sat down on the opposite side of the table.

"What have you been doing?" Sam asked.

Dean couldn't help laughing as he relaxed a little. How could he summarize ten years. "I wrote. I write. I'm a writer."

Sam combed his fingers through his hair and Dean smiled at the familiarity of it.

"What about you, Sam?"

Looking animated, Sam leaned on the table. "I dive. Marine ecology. But I have a grant right now, studying the impact of the increase in marine traffic on migration patterns of whales."

"That sounds great," Dean said. He'd always thought Sam would grow up and do something extraordinary. All those years before, Sam had said that he loved the ocean.

"We have a lot to catch up on," Sam said.

Dean nodded, pleased.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

When Dean arrived at Sam's small house the next morning he was treated to a sight that made him laugh.

Sam was outside in the garden, head thrown back and he was spinning around in a slow circle and catching rain water in his mouth. The husky was staring at him from across the yard.

Stopped at the front gate, Dean just watched for a while. Sam really wasn't all that far from the crazy kid that he used to be. It was very endearing.

"Hi Sam."

Sam lurched to a halt and jogged over to the gate so he could open it. "Jake just cancelled work for later so I'm yours all day. Let's go down to the water."

"Is Kevin your…"

Sam smiled but his brow was furrowed. "My…"

"Are you seeing him?"

The smile on Sam's face widened and the wrinkles in his brow disappeared. "No. I work with him sometimes. I'm not seeing anyone."

Something stirred in Dean's belly; it was like warmth and possibility all at once. "Good."

"Come on, Bingo," Sam called to the dog. "Let's go!"

"Bingo?"

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

They headed straight down to the waves that were crashing onto the shore.

Sam was full of energy. He talked about growing up in such a small town then made Dean share about his time in Austin. They'd grown up so differently.

The wind was really cold and Dean was glad he'd worn his wool sweater under his jacket. He'd taken a hint from the way Sam had been dressed the day before. He'd worn layers; it was a coastal thing.

Dean liked the way Sam's hair blew around and he liked the glow on the man's face. He really couldn't imagine Sam in any other world. He just seemed to _fit_ with the beach and the crashing waves. There probably wasn't another place where Sam would look as happy.

As they trudged along the beach, Sam would dart off occasionally to retrieve something. Often it was a shell; sometimes it was a piece of sea-glass. Whatever he found, he slipped into his coat pocket. Dean was vaguely curious about what might become of all of Sam's treasures.

"Hey, Sam? What happened to the snail?" 

Sam turned and began walking backwards so he could see Dean. "I thought you'd never ask."

The answer made Dean laugh. He was pleased that Sam shared some of the same memories.

The grin on Sam's face was kind of adorable. His eyes were lit up like he'd seen the best thing in the world. "After you left, I kept him in my room. I did some research and found out what kind of plants he liked to eat. You know, he lived for about a year?"

Bingo bolted away from them and splashed into the ocean. He retrieved a big stick that no one had thrown and then raced back to Sam. 

"Look out!" Sam shoved Dean's chest hard enough to make him stumble back a few steps.

He realized why Sam had pushed him when Bingo began shaking the water out of his coat. It flew off his body in a wide arc but most of it missed Dean.

Sam laughed. "I've had a lot of Bingo baths over the years. Not always very pleasant."

"I imagine." Dean reached out and wiped some water off of Sam's cheek with his thumb.

"Sam? You said, the night before I left, that you'd wanted to tell me something. You had an idea?"

As they started walking again, Sam fell into step beside Dean. "I wanted to send the snail on an adventure. Can you imagine? It would have been like falling asleep on Earth and then waking up on the moon"

Dean chuckled.

"What?"

"Just thinking about the look on my dad's face if he'd found a snail in a matchbox."

"Did you have any pets when you were growing up?" Sam threw the stick for Bingo and watched as the dog raced off after it.

"Nah," Dean answered."We moved around too much. Feels like we were always on our way _to_ or _from_ somewhere." Although Dean had a lot of fond memories of his time with his Dad, he remembered a _hell_ of a lot of driving.

"Were you happy then?"

That was a thing that Sam did. He asked questions that no one else would dare ask. When he was curious about something, he just asked. That kind of candor was refreshing. Dean hadn't encountered much of it before or since he'd first met Sam.

"I was happy when I was here," Dean said. He hadn't really thought about it before. That was another thing that Sam did; he made Dean think about things in a _very_ different way.

"Why?" There was a strange look in Sam's eyes.

"Why?" Why was a really small word that often had really complex consequences.

Sam nodded.

"You." It was another easy answer for Dean. 

"Really?" Sam stopped walking and looked really pleased.

"Yeah. When Dad told me that I had to spend the summer at Bobby's, I was pretty pissed off. But you made everything better."

"Good." Sam slipped his hand into Dean's and started walking again. "I'd like to think that I can put that smile on your face more and more often."

It was around that time that Dean decided there was no way he was going to leave Bobby's - _his_ house - any time soon.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Dean had never gone diving. He could swim; he had even snorkeled when they'd been in Florida. So - it had been quite a surprise the first time he'd gone diving with Sam.

All his fears dissipated as he slipped below the surface of the water. He'd heard about people panicking underwater but Dean felt amazing.

It was a little like flying, but, in slow motion. Because Dean _technically_ shouldn't be diving with no license, Sam took care of everything. He kept an eye on their depth gages and checked Dean's oxygen level every few minutes.

It was a different world. It was nothing that Dean could have ever imagined because he had no context for it.

Sam looked at home. He had an almost inhuman way of moving. Probably, it was because he'd spent _so_ much time underwater. His body was lithe, flexible, and he twisted in the water and swam around Dean like an eel.

Torn between watching Sam move through the water, and watching _everything_ around him, Dean was overwhelmed but happy.

The regulator and mask were comfortable and, soon enough, Dean forgot he was wearing them.

With his hand in Sam's, Dean let his friend guide him through the water. Every so often, Sam would point at something so Dean would see it. Sometimes, it was a fish, often it was an interesting coral formation. There were beautiful jelly fish and small crabs that looked pretty scared of the divers.

It was one of the best days Dean had ever had. And it wasn't _just_ because Sam looked really damn good in a wetsuit.

The dive seemed too short once they were on their way back to shore. Dean was shivering but he suspected that was as much from excitement as the cold.

The engine on Sam's Zodiac was loud; Dean leaned in close to Sam's ear. "Thank you. This was fucking amazing."

The grin on Sam's face was wide and bright. He turned his head quickly so he could press cold lips to Dean's cheek.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Sam was lying on his couch when Dean arrived. He had his laptop in front of him and a collection of books spread around him on the floor and the couch.

When he wasn't out on his boat gathering data, he spent his work hours with his computer.

Dean didn't mind watching Sam work. It probably helped a lot that Sam loved what he did. He wasn't really concerned with notoriety or money but he really cared about the ocean and the entire ecological system.

Dean pulled his sweater off and squeezed onto the couch at Sam's feet. As soon as he was comfortable Sam shoved some books onto the floor and sat up so he could turn around.

One of the things that Dean had learned about Sam in the short time they'd been together was that he liked to touch. At first, Dean had thought it might be touch in general. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Sam liked to touch Dean but he was much more reluctant with everyone else.

"I'm glad you came over," Sam said.

"I missed you."

"Well, I like that you've only been gone overnight and you miss me. It's a good sign."

Grinning, Dean rubbed his hands up Sam's legs. There was a subtle strength to them. 

Sam stretched his legs over Dean's lap and nestled back into the couch. "I thought about you this morning," Sam said quietly.

"Was it good?"

"Just thinking about how we met and you went away and came back and it might never have happened." Sam looked a little more serious, like he'd put a lot of thought into it.

"But it did happen," Dean assured Sam.

Nodding, Sam smiled at his friend. "But there were so many decisions that went into getting that outcome. It's crazy if you start to think about it. You can keep going back through all the decisions that were made, to when our parents met, or their parents met. So many people and so many different decisions that all had to be made _just_ right for us to be sitting here on the couch."

Dean's eyes had widened as Sam was speaking. Sometimes, he found it difficult to believe that Sam was real. "You're either crazy or a genius; I'm not sure which."

Sam's laughter made Dean's neck tingle a little.

"Why can't I be both?" asked Sam when he finally stopped laughing.

"I have a feeling that you could be anything you wanted." Dean truly believed that Sam could do anything. He was the most interesting person Dean had ever met. There was something about him that was magnetic, something that was indefinable. It was something Dean had never felt before with anyone.

"What are you - Oh ! God. I forgot to tell you. I have to go away this weekend. There's a large migration of jellyfish up the coast. I want to get some video of it. I asked Kevin if he could go but he's busy."

"No problem," Dean said. "I'll come with you." He was finally getting used to the fact that he had money and didn't have to _be_ anywhere in particular. It had been strange at first.

"You can't go; I'll be really busy and I can't run the cam if I'm worried about you diving."

Dean tried a more Sam-like approach. "If I can't go somewhere then you shouldn't go either."

Brow furrowed, Sam just stared at Dean. He combed his fingers through his hair, then sat up and scooted forwards. "I suppose you have a point."

"I do?" It wasn't like Sam to relent so quickly.

"If it's somewhere one of us can't go - the other one shouldn't go either. I like that."

Dean nodded; his feelings thick and slippery as he tried to pin them down.

Sam leaned forward a little more and his lips reached Dean's cheek. He set about leaving gentle kisses along the length of Dean's cheekbone and then across his cheek to his lips.

The way Dean's heart was pounding left him a little lightheaded. It wasn't an unfamiliar sensation; at least, when he was around Sam.

Physically, they hadn't progressed beyond soft kisses and fleeting touches. It had seemed as though there was just _so_ much going on between them already. It was _more_. It was _special_. It was something to be cherished and protected.

As Sam shifted again his warm lips passed over Dean's so lightly it was more of a tickle than anything else.

Sam breathed out a little puff of hot breath and it smelled sweet like candy. That made Dean smile.

Sam kissed both corners of Dean's mouth before shifting back a little. "Thank you for finding me," Sam whispered.

Dean frowned as he smiled. It was a strange way of putting it. "Thanks for still being here."

After a deep breath, Sam fell forward so he could cover Dean's mouth with his own. Dean's heart throbbed and his lips parted so he could feel _more_.

The heat of the kiss was a little like being drugged. It made Dean's mind loosen its grip on everything but the way Sam's mouth felt as it moved wetly over his.

The kiss was more demanding than Dean expected. It was a little too wet, at first, as they learned the _feel_ of each other's mouths. It felt like Sam shivered a little and Dean slid his arm around the man's waist to try and shift him even closer.

The weight of Sam's legs moved. Even as their mouths still explored and slid and lingered.

Then Sam was straddling Dean's lap. The heaviness of him pinning Dean there was sensual, frightening and inviting all at the same time.

Dean's hands slid up Sam's thighs, squeezed then moved on to settle over his hips. Dean's fingers dug into the denim that covered Sam's legs, so he could feel that _firm_ body underneath.

A moan began somewhere deep in Dean's chest. When it passed his lips it was low and gravelly. The sound seemed to ripple through Sam's body as well. He was restless on Dean's lap, pushing closer as his hands traveled over Dean's chest, shoulders then curled around his neck to hold him still.

Sam deepened the kiss, his tongue darting briefly into Dean's mouth. His grip on Dean's neck was tight, firm and his tongue worked Dean's lips open wider.

Dean's body felt like it was on fire. Sam kissed like he did everything else. It was intense, it was learning _every_ taste and sensation as though it might never happen again.

Then the wet slide of Sam's lips softened and the kiss was, quite suddenly, so gentle it made Dean's breath catch in his throat. Never had he felt anything like it. Every thought in his mind was 'Sam'; every taste, every sensation. Everything was Sam.

When Sam's lips left Dean's he moaned again and was rewarded with a shaky sigh from Sam.

One of Sam's hands slid up into Dean's short hair and it sent shivers rippling down his body.

They were both panting softly; their breath mingling in the slight space between them.

Dean had a feeling that would be the beginning of Sam _never_ being close enough. He pulled at Sam's t-shirt, forcing their bodies together. He buried his face in the sweat-sweet crook of Sam's neck.

Under his tongue, Sam's flesh was salty and hot. Dean's heart thumped almost painfully and he focused on trying to breathe for a few moments.

"So," Sam said quietly. His voice was low and inviting and made Dean's body jump slightly. "You'll come with me this weekend."

Dean nodded, not wanting to let go of Sam just yet.

"Good, I'll get a king-size bed," Sam said against Dean's cheek.

It seemed crazy but Dean laughed. Sam was so perfectly unpredictable. Dean loved it. Hell, Dean probably loved Sam already. He had a feeling he'd loved Sam since he was a little boy on a blustery beach. It was a beginning for them. And it was good.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam arrived at Dean's house early on a Friday morning. The old Jeep he owned was full of diving gear and a lot of other things that Dean couldn't even identify. Apparently, Sam didn't clean his Jeep out very often.

Dean felt a little unprepared with his small backpack. When Sam laughed at the small bag Dean was carrying Dean simply pointed to the overloaded back of the Jeep. He had assured Sam in between laughs that the man was bringing along more than enough for both of them. 

Beginning with laughter had set the tone for the trip. Sam put on some music and they began to talk, filling in more of the gaps left in their ten years apart. Sometimes, it felt like they would never catch up.

There was still a scar on Sam's shoulder that remained a mystery to Dean. But then, he was pretty certain that he hadn't explained that the scar on his own forehead was from having chicken pox when he was a kid.

It was strange to feel, on one hand, that Sam was his soul mate, and then still realize there were so many things that he didn't know.

About half an hour out of town they began playing a crazy game of twenty questions. It turned out there were a lot more than simply twenty questions to be asked. 

They covered favorite colors, music, what countries they wanted to travel to. There was a heated discussion about politics and how responsible voters were for the direction taken by the government. They touched on the past relationships they'd had and how things had turned out. Dean told the story of taking a girl to Prom but Sam only laughed. For his part, Sam had never dated women. He's known, since he was a little boy what he wanted.

Sam shared his ideas about the evolution of some species of animals - some crazy connection between crabs and spiders or something. Whatever it was, it was a little above Dean.

Dean talked about Uncle Bobby and how he'd been such a stable presence in his life. John Winchester had been a principled man, but the gentleness in Dean's life had all come from his Uncle. 

There was so much more. Sam was animated enough that he would never run out of stories to tell.

They stopped for lunch about half way through their tip. The diner was quaint and Dean was amused. While Sam ordered enough food to feed an army, Dean looked around. There were old photos of Elvis on the walls, vinyl records and strange old posters. Someone had put a lot of effort into decorating the place. It was very similar to the diners that Dean had frequented so often with his father and brought back his youth. 

After lunch and too much coffee the two men climbed back into the Jeep and headed out onto a graveled back road. It didn't look like there was a lot of traffic.

Sam explained that the road led to a gated conservation area that extended about one hundred miles out to sea.

There was a National fisheries office right on the ocean front where there was a boat waiting for Sam. It was better than pulling the Zodiac around with them.

By the time they crested the mountains and could see the ocean, it was raining heavily. Sam promised he would get Dean settled in the motel before he went off to check in with fisheries. He had a lot of work ahead of him but he was excited about it. Dean knew Sam would fit in as many dives as he was able to.

"Sam?" Dean's arm was stretched along the back of Sam's seat so he could slide his fingers through Sam's hair.

"Hmm?"

"I gotta pee." Dean smiled. They'd also spent a lot of time talking about rest stops and how there weren't enough of them. Amusingly enough, there had been a discussion about peeing in the wild. Not surprising really.

"We're only about forty minutes from the center. How bad d'you have to go?" Sam's eyes were sparkling in the late afternoon sun that had appeared from behind the rain clouds.

"I gotta go now."

"Okay." Sam squinted ahead through the rain and sunlight. "I'll just pull over up ahead."

Dean looked back out the passenger window. "You think you'll be in the motel tonight or will you be working?"

Sam looked over at him long enough to wink. "I will be with you. No night diving and I'm not missing out on any time with you and a king-size bed."

Dean couldn't help laughing. He was just full to the brim with happiness.

Sam signaled as he pulled over to the side of the road despite the fact that they hadn't seen another vehicle in ages. "Okay. There ya go!"

The door groaned as Dean pushed it open. He slammed it shut and leaned in through the open window to smile. "Don't go anywhere without me."

The rain had let up a little but it was still blustery. Dean trudged through some long grass to get off the road.

Sam's door creaked open and Dean looked back in time to see Sam stretching his arms _high_ above his head.

"When we get there I want coffee," Dean called out.

He undid his zipper and peed against a small tree. "And a hamburger-"

A loud screech and a thump made Dean's entire body jump back. It was unmistakable. Another vehicle had collided with something … organic. Dean glanced over at where the small delivery truck had screeched to a halt about thirty feet past the open driver's side door of Sam's Jeep.

There was no sign of Sam.

It was one of those moments when Dean's brain almost shut down. For a fraction of a second he was terrified then he felt sick to his stomach. Then, he felt nothing.

The truck driver had climbed out of the cab of the truck and was staring down at the ground in between both vehicles. Dean could hear the sound of a hub cap spinning on the road and then the clanking as it fell over.

There was no sign of Sam.

Dean's heart beat was dull and slow, his skin too cold in the misty rain. He closed his eyes for a while. _This isn't happening._

But when he opened his eyes there was still no sign of Sam.

The first two steps were difficult, but then it got easier for Dean to trudge back to the Jeep.

At the passenger door, he took a shaky breath before pulling the door open and climbing back into the passenger seat.

It was a while before he could convince himself to look at the road.

The truck driver was yelling into his phone. Dean's eyes moved over the man's stained jacket. It looked like he'd spilled a drink all over himself. There was a dark, wet, spill was in the shape of a seahorse on the driver's pant leg. It was so strange. What were the odds of that liquid making _that_ shape?

Dean's lashes flutter for a few seconds as his gaze moved to the body lying on the road.

It was Sam. But it wasn't Sam because a live human body couldn't contort into the position that body was in. The legs were bent, twisted almost completely the wrong way around. One of the arms was bent straight back across the body's shoulders - a way that it shouldn't be bent.

It was all wrong. And the driver's seat was empty. The keys were swinging back and forth in the ignition.

It was Sam.

Sam was dead.

Dean began to shake.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

At first, Dean didn't know what to do. He hadn't been part of _Sam and Dean_ long enough to know how to begin to mourn.

He felt empty, drained and slept a lot. For the days in between the accident and the funeral, Dean stayed at Bobby's. He didn't know anyone in town but Sam's mom.

Dean had gone to see Mary the day after Sam's funeral. When she had seen Dean, her puffy, pale face had crumpled. She'd flung her arms around Dean's neck and sobbed. Her tears felt foreign against Dean's neck but he held Mary. 

He wasn't sure that anyone could understand what he'd lost but Mary came close.

Mary asked if Sam had suffered after he'd been hit. Dean said _no_ because that's what everyone wanted to think. He let Mary talk; she told Dean all kinds of things he couldn't absorb about Sam's youth. She needed to say things and Dean saw it as his place to listen.

Dean stopped by Sam's place on the way back to Bobby's. The smell of Sam assaulted Dean as soon as he pushed the front door open. Sam never locked his door. He said that if someone wanted his stuff that badly, they probably needed it.

That was Sam.

There was a tightness in Dean's throat that made him feel as though he was going to suffocate. Before he lost the last of his breath he grabbed Sam's laptop off the table, the small matchbox that had been the snail's home and Sam's baggy blue sweater.

When Sam got back to Bobby's he sat in the living room holding the small matchbox. It was fitting, somehow, that it was a memento of Sam.

Dean pulled the old box open and smiled when he saw the snail's shell. It felt light in his palm, almost nonexistent. When he went to put the shell back inside he saw a piece of paper. It was a note in childish writing. It must have been tucked in there by Sam when he'd decided to send the snail travelling with Dean.

It was simple, and brought the very first tears to Dean's eyes. 

_i will wait as long as it takes._

Dean fell asleep that night with Sam's sweater held tightly to his chest.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Ideas often come when they are needed. Sometimes, Dean thought that his brain absorbed things all the time and then only busted them out when they were most needed.

Dean was clutching papers in his hands when he had walked to Mary's house. His nerves were rattled and he was exhausted but he needed to talk to Mary.

Quiet, at first, as Dean had spoken Mary had looked shocked. The expression on her face morphed from confused to shocked as Dean continued his explanation.

"The Department of Genetic Replication," Mary murmured. She shook her head as she flipped through the papers. "Permission to exhume for DNA." 

Dean nodded.

"No." Mary held the papers out until Dean took them. He'd know it would be difficult for Mary to process. The technology was new and hotly contested. The moral implications of the cloning process had been debated to infinitum in the media.

Tears were trailing down Mary's cheeks and Dean wondered if that was _his_ fault. Things seemed so black and white to him, but Mary was nothing but emotion.

"Dean? What are you _thinking_?"

"I'm thinking that I want Sam back." That was _all_ Dean was thinking about; that and nothing more.

"I'm an atheist, Dean. And I raised my son to be an atheist but that doesn't mean we can rummage in the graves of the deceased like farm animals." Mary's blue eyes were wide open, shining with tears and full of hurt.

Dean leaned forward and set the papers down on the table between them. "I left Sam once and he waited for me," Dean said. He could remember it clear as a bell - Sam's upturned face and slanted eyes. Rain falling on them. It was a highlight reel that ran constantly in Dean's mind.

"Dean. I know you lost-"

"You don't know," Dean said dully. "He said he would wait for as long as it took. And he did. And we only had a few days together. It wasn't long enough. We needed more time."

"Sweetheart," Mary said as she reached out to hold Dean's hand. "It won't be Sam, it'll just be a copy-"

"That's a slur. They're called paratypes or repros," Dean said slowly.

"And it won't be Sam."

"The process is incredibly advanced," Dean insisted. He sandwiched Mary's hand between both of his. "With Sam's DNA it would be an exact replica. They will incubate the embryo and monitor its development. The growth can now be advanced until the repro reaches the age at which Sam…" It was still something Dean couldn't say.

"He died," Mary said sharply. "Sam was _killed_ when a truck slammed into him and broke his body-"

"Jesus, Mary."

"Sam is my _son_ , Dean. Was… my son." The light of a deep anger was burning in Mary's gaze. "Don't talk at me like I don't understand what loss feels like because I _do_. I lost my child."

"And, I lost the only man I've ever loved," Dean said quickly. It was something he hadn't even admitted to himself. But this felt like, the _only_ solution. He couldn't imagine what his life would be in the future without Sam in it. Everything had changed and it was too late to reverse it.

"I'm leaving, you know." Mary's voice was softer; her free hand fussing with some stray hairs that had escaped her hair tie. "The ocean, the house, everything makes me think of Sam. I can't spend the rest of my life like that."

Nodding, Dean squeezed Mary's hand then let go. He wasn't going to win the battle. She wouldn't give him back Sam.

Mary stared at Dean across the table as she chewed on a fingernail. She looked years older than she had the last time Dean had seen her just days earlier. There were wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and there was even a small streak of grey in her hair that Dean had never noticed before.

Mary sighed and pulled the papers back towards her.

Dean held his breath as Mary picked up the pen and signed her name at the bottom of the release form. She paused; staring at her signature then slid the papers back to Dean. "Be careful, Dean. And, before you do this, _think_ about it. He may not be who you try to make him."

Trying to hide the smile that was growing on his face, Dean nodded. "We could stay in touch with you. I could call."

"No, Dean. My Sam is gone and nothing you create will be _him_. Please think about that long and hard before you make this decision." Mary poked some hair back into place and stood slowly. "Good-bye, Dean."

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Dean waited four months after he submitted his request, paid his fee and signed a long and convoluted contract.

Four months had passed since the accident and on Dean's twenty-fourth birthday he found himself sitting in the waiting area of the Department of Advanced Science. _Four months_ without Sam.

Every time he heard footsteps his heart would speed up. Twice, someone in a medical uniform walked through the room; once it was even someone who looked as anxious as Dean.

Finally, a door on the far side of the waiting room swung open and a tall woman with long, dark hair and a white lab coat came into the room.

She had the kind of large brown eyes that all Doctors should have. They were gentle, compassionate and intelligent. Dean stared at her lips for a while - maybe he was willing them to open - to say something.

Perching on the edge of the chair beside Dean, the woman extended her hand. "I'm Doctor Braeden. I've been the consulting physician on your paratype development. I just wanted to touch base before you are on your way."

"Okay," Dean answered. He couldn't help the way his eyes moved back to the door to see if there was anyone else coming."

"Everything has gone exactly as planned, Mr. Winchester-"

"Dean, please." Mr. Winchester made Dean feel as though his father would be striding into the room.

"Dean. The project went well. The paratype is a week out of incubation. His acceleration is on track. Everything checks out perfectly."

"Perfectly," Dean echoed. He wondered when they would be able to call _the paratype_ a baby. "Sam", Dean said softly.

"Pardon me?" Dr. Braeden leaned back a little and swept her hair back over her shoulders.

"His name is Sam."

The smile on Dr. Braeden's face was tolerant. "Certainly, Dean. I'm sure you'll appreciate why we try not to personalize our work here."

Dean nodded reluctantly. There didn't seem to be much point in arguing with her.

"We'll be releasing … him into your care today. Have you read the documentation regarding the next six months and what you might expect?"

"Yes, I have. He's going to age faster than a regular child."

Dr. Braeden nodded. "The growth and development has been accelerated according to your demands. The - Sam will be an infant for six months and then you'll see significant changes in him. 

"And that will last until Sam reaches the equivalent of his twenty-third year," Dean added. That was the year that Dean had found Sam again.

"Correct. Do you have any other questions?" There were a few freckles on Dr. Braeden's cheeks and they seemed a little out of place on her otherwise solemn face.  
"I. No. I don't think I do." Dean had done nothing _but_ read since he'd signed the contract. There had been scientific reports, statistical analyses. Every piece of literature about paratypes Dean had been able to get his hands on, he'd read and he'd absorbed.

"Alright then. I'll just go and get him for you." There was enough illumination in the Doctor's smile to light up the room but it still managed to fall shy of genuine.

When she stood, Dr. Braeden smoothed the front of her lab coat down. She nodded then strode across the room to disappear back through the door.

Dean swallowed and rubbed his palms on his trousers. He was beginning to realize how ridiculous it was that he had dressed up. The Doctor didn't care, Sam wouldn't notice and _Jesus_ \- Dean realized he was losing his mind a little bit.

He stood up and straightened his tie then froze when the door swung open. Dr. Braeden's smile was fixed and bright but this time there was a bassinet in her left hand. She was carrying it kind of like a shopping basket.

"Here you are." She held out the bassinet.

Dean closed his eyes and took a few moments to settle in to the moment. When he opened his eyes, he took the bassinette.

"Good luck, Dean."

There was a small sound from the bundle of blankets. Dean reached inside and moved the blanket aside with one finger.

And there was _Sam_. He was in those eyes, the honey colored skin. For the first time since the funeral, Dean's heart settled into a slow and steady rhythm. Finally. _Sam_.

"It's just the two of us now, Sam."

Tiny, slanted hazel eyes blinked up at Dean.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Dean had read a lot of books about babies and he'd discovered quickly that a lot of them didn't mean much when it came to paratypes.

Little Sammy wasn't a fussy baby. He was pretty quiet actually. At first, it had worried Dean. He had settled Sammy on his own bed and lay there beside him, listening to each little breath in and out in case something went wrong.

There were several things that were different about paratype babies. Because their metabolisms had been altered, they slept a lot. Sammy was no exception. His tiny heart beat quickly. He was quiet and when Dean wrapped him up in a blanket he looked a little like a larvae in a cocoon.

Sammy was tiny. He made Dean feel clumsy and too big. When he carried Sammy from room to room he would talk to him about Uncle Bobby; about Sam's mother who'd gone away when he was very young. And he would tell stories about things he had done with his own father while they were on the road.

It seemed strange to tell him about John Winchester because Sam had never met Dean's father. There was no way Dean was going to tell Sam about himself. Dean hadn't yet figured out how they were going to have _that_ conversation.

While Dean spoke, Sammy would stare up at him, intent, and Dean could swear that the baby was listening.

When Sammy's small hand curled around Dean's finger - he fell in love with the new version of Sam in a completely different way. It was honest and pure; so sweet it made Dean's throat ache.

The baby was completely helpless. Not helpless like a sick friend or a hospital patient; but completely reliant on Dean for everything. It was a little humbling to be responsible for the tiny life that he held in his arms.

It was all kinds of overwhelming.

Dean's life became routine quite quickly. Each week, someone from the center would stop by to monitor Sam's progress. They annoyed Dean a little and Sammy seemed to agree.

When the research nurse from the center would take Sam's little onesie off to take his measurements he would scream louder than any other time. Dean would hover nearby and as soon as the measurements were scanned in, Dean would push his way in and scoop the baby up. The cries would stop instantly. 

Dean's confidence grew with each visit from the workers.

The more he thought about the fact that _baby Sammy_ would grow up to be _Sam_ \- the more Dean was puzzled about how he would ever tell Sam where he'd come from.

But there was time.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Sammy took his first steps towards Dean _or_ towards the ocean, depending on how confident Dean was feeling.

The no-longer-a-baby began walking unassisted shortly after that. He would pick shells up off the beach and hand them to Dean.

A week later Sammy would press the shells into the sand in circles. Dean called them crop circles. They littered the beach during low tide because it was hard to keep Sammy away from the beach. Dean sometimes wondered if Sammy was trying to send a message to someone.

As independent as little Sammy was, he never let Dean out of his sight for very long. Most people talked about never being able to find their children once they were mobile but Dean never had trouble finding his Sammy.

Those chubby little bare feet - the next development was no shoes _ever_ \- would pad around after Dean no matter where he went. He crawled up the stairs, avoided the throw rugs and waited for Dean when he was moving around the house.

When Sammy spoke, he said _Dean_. Dean would never have suggested Sammy call him anything else but the Center had advised against using any parental labels.

Sammy wasn't Dean's son, of that fact, Dean was certain. He was waiting for his Sam to come back to him. He would wait as long as it took.

Within six months, Sam behaved and looked as though he was five or six years old. It became a problem, when Dean had least expected it.

The neighbors noticed first. They stopped greeting Dean when he was in the garden with little Sammy. They would stop talking to each other when Dean passed them on the street. Their rejection of Dean and Sam wasn't subtle and cut to the quick.

Sammy noticed. Dean knew that because Sammy noticed everything. Neither of them mentioned it though.

 _’Just a little while longer'_ , Dean would tell himself. What difference did it make, after all, if people didn't speak to them? Soon enough, they would be Sam and Dean again. All Dean had to do was be patient. 

By the time Sammy looked about six years old, Dean thought it was time for him to celebrate a birthday. It was a painful mistake.

"Why can't they come? Sammy hopped up onto the sofa and crossed his legs. He had a way of gazing up at Dean that made him feel like the kid could read his mind.

Dean's brain was still trying to come up with something that would pass as a believable excuse.

It was too monstrous to consider that a prejudice could be so deep that it would affect Sammy. He could understand people judging him for the decision he'd made to clone Sam, but he couldn't understand how someone could judge Sammy.

"Dean? We invited everyone from school. Why didn't they come?" Sammy had an accusatory expression on his face. He may not understand all the details of his origin but he understood that Dean was the _keeper_ of information.

"Sammy, let's just have some cake. It's chocolate, your favorite and it's shaped like a seahorse."

"No. Tell me why they didn't come." Sammy folded his arms across his chest. He had already demonstrated an ability to be _very_ stubborn.

But, Dean didn't like his choices. Lie or give Sammy the impression that human beings were just _cruel_ by nature. He knew that Sammy would be subjected to it sooner or later. "Don't worry. How about you and I celebrate?"

"Tell me," Sam said firmly.

Little Sammy was an awfully effective road block when he wanted to be. It wasn't just his stubborn nature; it was the bright, hazel eyes and the shaggy mop of hair. All of that was bound up in a package that could stop Dean in his tracks. He struggled with it.

"I'm going to get plates for us." Dean tried to swallow down the guilt that was clawing its way up his throat.

Sammy's hands were on Dean's cheeks then, holding his face still for a few moments. The kid had knelt up, half leaning on Dean's lap. "Why?"

It was the very first time that Dean heard Sammy raise his voice. Dean already suspected that it wouldn't be the last. The yell lodged something loose in Dean's chest. "They didn't come because their parents are stupid. They wouldn't let their kids come here. It's stupid and mean-"

Sammy's soft palms slid down Dean's cheeks. "But why not?"

Shaking his head, Dean stood and walked over to the kitchen. He couldn't tell Sammy _this_ way. He couldn't package it up in ignorant opinions and hand it to Sammy like it was a consequence of his existence. He wouldn't.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Shortly after Sam's failed birthday, it became obvious that people knew of Sam's origins. Dean moved them. Engaging the services of a private property dealer he bought a small house on an Island. It had once housed the caretaker and his family on an acre of beach and farm land on an island that had once been a science station. The irony of it was that his Sam would have loved the island and all the unique wildlife that was indigenous. Even though the science station had relocated, there were some old buildings for Sammy to explore and there was still an order that prevented further development on the island so there would be no neighbors. Apart from the occasional visiting hiker or photographer, they were left alone. Dean thought of it as their own island, not just their new home.

Dean didn't come right out and tell Sammy they were moving because he wasn't sure that he would want to leave Bobby's. It was all Sam knew. Perhaps it made no difference to Sammy, there was so much about him that Dean didn't know and Sam wasn't yet able to express..

There was very little that they needed to take with them. Sammy outgrew his clothes every couple of weeks so Dean only bought the basics. For his part, Dean was used to being casual and comfortable since he'd retired from writing. He had recently considered going back to work freelance but all that would require was his laptop and a satellite connection, conveniently,the island had both.

Sammy had one box of toys. Since he'd learned how to read he'd always preferred books to toys. They took all of Sammy's books and most of Dean's. It wasn't a difficult decision. As creative and energetic as Sammy was he could often be found curled up on the couch with a book.

When they arrived at the new house, Sammy was silent. Without taking off his boots or his jacket he wandered around from room to room. He trailed his small hands over window sills covered in dust; leaving little Sammy graffiti everywhere.

Dean stood by the front door and watched Sammy's every move. If Sammy wanted to leave then they would.

But there was no complaint. Eventually, Sammy had settled in the smaller of the two bedrooms. When Dean had looked around the corner ten minutes later, Sam's books were all lined up on the solitary set of shelves in the room.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

If Dean had to guess he would say that Sammy looked about eleven or twelve years old.

His hair was thicker, his skin a little darker because he was on the beach all the time. His eyes were, as they'd always been, knowing. The expression _old soul_ suited Sammy.

It was afternoon. Late afternoon and Dean walked into the living room. There was a child shaped blanket lump sitting on one end of the couch.

"Sammy, take the blanket off; I want to tell you something."

Without being able to see Sammy's face, Dean couldn't tell if he had his attention.

The head shaped part of the blanket lump nodded a little and turned towards Dean's face. "I can hear perfectly well under here," Sammy said.

"It's rude to hide when you're speaking to someone; come on out."

The head shaped part of the blanket lump shook back and forth.

Smiling, Dean sat down on the couch. He picked up the edge of the blanket and began pulling. First, Sam's staticy hair appeared, then those slightly slanted eyes.

"Hello," Dean said.

"Hi," Sam replied very quietly. 

"Some of the stuff in my room was moved around. Were you looking for something?" Dean studied Sammy's face carefully.

Sam nodded; his charged hair stayed pointed at the ceiling.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

Sam looked briefly over at the bedroom door then shook his head.

"Is there something I can help with?"

Sam blinked a few times as he stared at Dean. "Am I an alien?"

Dean couldn't help laughing. "What?"

"Well, you're not my Dad or you'd tell me to call you Dad. Was my Mom an alien? Is that why people don't like me? Am I from another planet?"

The whole situation was a little strange - and quickly approaching dangerous territory. But Dean had never wanted Sammy to feel weird or left out.

"Sammy, your parents were born and raised around here just like you. I've explained to you about adoption. Sometimes, people can't look after children that they have."

"Yeah, but I guess I thought maybe they were pretending to be human."

"You're very human, Sammy."

"Okay."

Shaking his head, Dean slid the blanket back up over Sam's head. He rubbed it back and forth a little for good measure. He was relieved when he heard a quiet laugh.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Sammy came crashing through the front door. He'd been out on the beach since early morning. Not that Dean was worried. Sammy was extraordinarily watchful when he was out. And he'd known how to swim for a long time. Dean had a feeling that Sammy knew how to do a lot of things before Dean was aware of it.

Whatever it was that Sammy was pulling behind him wrapped around Dean's foot at the table and he had to shake himself free. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on but changed his mind at the last minute. Most times, he didn't understand what was going on in Sam's mind.

After a few good tugs, Sammy's latest treasure came loose and he was off towards his room.

When Dean looked down behind his chair he thought it looked like seaweed that had been woven into a kind of rope. There was a huge hunk of plastic tied to the end of it. It seemed Sammy had been constructing sea life sculpture again. Dean smiled.

Content that Sammy was happy and occupied, Dean decided to go back to reading.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

As soon as Sammy had begun carrying books around with him Dean had begun to teach the child how to read. Whip smart and always intensely focused on what interested him, Sam had learned quickly. It hadn't taken much time before Sammy was reading independently and only pausing to ask Dean for assistance periodically. 

Dean brought as many books to the island as he could carry, trading them in when Sammy was finished. Sammy also learned how to use the computer and the internet. At first, Dean had supervised but he'd found out quickly that Sammy nearly always wanted to read about science or history. It hadn't been uncommon for Dean to find Sammy watching hours of oceanographic documentaries; he had been fascinated by the sea since he'd first seen it.  
Although Dean had little experience with home schooling it seemed to go well. Sammy enjoyed his time spent learning and Dean enjoyed any time he spent with the boy. Dean figured the only problem he might have, one day, would be that Sam would have read the entire internet.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Dean installed a swing set he'd had shipped over from the mainland. When Dean was little he used to think that if he could swing high enough, he could see the other side of the world. Sammy just wondered if centrifugal force would keep him on the seat if he swung all the way over the supporting bar. Dean insisted that Sammy not experiment.

It was a warm afternoon but the wind from the ocean was cool. Dean was on one swing, Sammy on the other.

The wind had made Sammy retreat into the hoodie he had swiped from Dean's bedroom. His small hands were tucked up into the extra-long sleeves. The hood was pulled down so far that his face was hidden almost completely.

"Hey Sammy, have I told you about the playground I used to go to when I was a kid?"

The hood shook back and forth a few times.

"There were ropes and stuff. It was more like a tree fort. I used to pretend that I was some kind of adventurer and lived up in the tops of the trees."

"I would live on a boat," said the hood quietly.

"A house boat?"

"No. I want one of those big sailing ships." Sammy's little sneakers trailed through the sand under the swing seat.

"You'd have to learn how to sail," Dean answered. He pushed off the ground to get his swing moving again.

"There are sailing books, I bet," Sam said. It never ceased to amazing Dean how much Sammy thought about. There were lots of ideas zooming around in that little brain.

"Who would you take sailing with you? You couldn't sail a ship that big by yourself." Dean pumped his feet a few times to get his swing going higher.

"I'd ask you to come with me but I don't really know anyone else." The shoulders of the big hoodie shrugged as Dean swung past.

"Are you lonely, Sammy?" Dean had worried about it before. His choice to move them to the island had limited their contact with everyone, not just the people who had been discriminating against Sammy.

The hood shook back and forth a couple of times.

They went into town on Sam's Zodiac at least twice a month. But Sammy didn't really know many people. His favorite person in town was Miss Rhodes who owned the bookstore.

Whenever they went to town, a visit to the bookstore was always on their agenda. It wasn't unusual for Sammy to return home with ten or twelve books.

Sammy's friends were limited to Dean and Miss Rhodes. Dean had a feeling that Sammy would be borrowing the Zodiac to go to town as soon as Dean could no longer justify saying no.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dragging his feet on the ground, Dean slowed the swing down so he could hear Sam better.

"How come you don't have a wife?" Sammy pushed the hood back off his head so he could see Dean's face.

"Well, do you remember me telling you that I'm gay? I wouldn't have a wife. I would have a husband. There was a man I loved very much once, but I didn't get a chance to…" Dean shrugged. It never got easy to speak about, no matter how much time had passed since the accident.

"What happened to him?"

That was another one of the questions that Dean had been dreading. It wasn't something he even liked to think about.

Dean took a deep breath. "We went away for the weekend… and. He was killed in a car accident."

"What kind of accident?"

When Dean looked down to meet Sam's gaze, he sighed. There was a clarity in those eyes, almost like Sam _knew_ all the answers but wanted Dean to confirm his suspicions.

Dean worked under the theory that children didn't ask questions unless they were _ready_ for the answers.

"It was a very long trip. We stopped by the side of the road. He was hit when he got out of the Jeep."

"It was a Jeep?"

Dean blinked a few times, a little surprised that was the detail that Sammy had focused on.

"Yes, it was a Jeep."

"And he died?" There was tenderness in Sammy's voice. So young and yet so empathetic.

"Yes, he did almost as soon as he was hit. He didn't suffer."

"Did you?"

The question rattled Dean a little. "What? Did I what?"

"Did you suffer when your husband died?"

As far as Dean was concerned there was no point in lying to Sammy. He was more than capable of figuring out most things by himself.

"I was _very_ hurt," Said Dean. "Not my body, but my heart and my mind."

Sammy was quiet, his swing only moving slightly in the strong sea breeze. He looked like he expected Dean to say more.

Dean swallowed, and his throat hurt a little. "For a while, I wasn't sure if I wanted to be alive without him. It was like everything took way more energy than I had; breathing, moving, and staying awake.

"Why did you stay alive?"

Finally a question Dean knew _exactly_ how to answer. "Hope."

"Hope," repeated Sammy. He whispered it again like he was testing out the word. "Dean?"

"Yeah?'

"What was your hope?"

"You, Sammy. You were my hope."

Sam's small hand slid into Dean's and he held on as he started swinging again.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Dean wasn't sure when it happened, but one morning he realized that Sam was beginning to look like the man Dean had lost.

It was unnerving. It wasn't magic or anything. Sam hadn't gone to sleep looking twelve years old and woken up in the body of an adult; it had been much more gradual. Dean noticed glimpses of the change as it was happening. Sammy had begun to shed his youthful look when his jaw had squared and his shoulders broadened. The angles and strength of his growing body took on a more mature appearance. There was a wakeup call the first day Sammy had noticeable peach fuzz on his chin and there had been various conversations about a man's body and the changes that Sammy was undergoing. The change to the grown up version of Sam had been gradual.

There were a few things that wove together to reveal that Sammy had grown up to be the sweet young man Dean had fallen in love with.

Eventually, Sam had decided he wanted to grow his hair longer. He hadn't cut it for a while and then he'd come through the door one afternoon and swept his fingers through it. Dean's legs had nearly given out. 

Of course, Sammy had walked over to hug Dean as though nothing had changed. Then he threw his jacket on the back of the couch and looked over at Dean. "Hey Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?" The frequency of Sam's questions had never decreased.

"Do you think … could you call me Sam?"

Eyes burning slightly, Dean nodded slowly. Maybe that had been the moment when Sammy began _becoming_ Sam.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Now that Sam looked like he was about twenty years old, things got more difficult for Dean.

Sam was beautiful. And Dean had raised him with a great deal of freedom. Whenever possible, Dean had let Sam make his own decisions. Because they were isolated from the world at large, Sam had been spared a lot of strange beliefs and useless societal norms.

Sam was free-spirited and independent. And while he wasn't spoiled, he had certainly been isolated from a lot of the negative that most children grow up with.

All the things that _little_ Sammy had been through had begun to mold the genetic presets in _just_ the right ways.

When Sam had a shower he would leave the bathroom clad only in a towel that hung from his narrow hips. The first time Dean had seen that; the first time he'd noticed _Sam_ , he had stopped breathing.

It had been just another morning. Dean lifted his coffee cup to his mouth, glanced up and found himself face to face with the specter of his dead lover.

As it turned out; there hadn't really been a way to prepare for that.

"You okay, Dean?" Sam ran both hands through his wet hair.

"M'good. Need coffee." And he needed some time to get hold of himself. It wasn't the right time for Sam to know everything. Even Sam - King of questions - had yet to ask what their relationship was.

"Don't believe you," Sam said as he padded across to his bedroom. "But okay, I'm not gonna nag you."

As soon as Sam was in his bedroom, Dean downed his coffee. The burn of it on his throat was grounding as it settled his stomach. The next few months could prove to be very interesting.

When Sam emerged from the bedroom he was wearing some of Dean's old clothes. Dean hadn't wanted to get rid of them and the idea of used clothing had never seemed to bother Sam.

He was clad in baggy jeans and a t-shirt. He never seemed to mind how cold the house was.

As he passed the table, Sam grabbed Dean's coffee cup. Dean _always_ needed more coffee in the mornings. "I've been thinking."

Dean tried to mentally prepare himself for more. "About anything in particular?"

"Diving." Sam got a mug out of the cupboard for himself and poured two fresh cups.

For the second time that morning, Dean stopped breathing for a while. He would have to work on that.

The mug slid in front of Dean and he let out a long breath. "Diving," he echoed shakily.

"Yeah. There's a course at the Aquatic Center on the mainland. I checked online. I could do the entire thing in about three days.

Dean sat back in his chair. Sam had obviously thought about it a lot. "Uh…"

"You didn't sell Uncle Bobby's so I could stay there. I can do some gardening and stuff." 

"I. I suppose. Yeah. Don't see why not."

Apparently it was time, yet again, to dig into his supply of I.D. cards that had been provided by the Center.

"Thanks, Dean. I was thinking I might be able to get a good summer job with it or something. Work in town."

He was so damned animated about diving, Dean couldn't face thinking about Sam being gone for the summer. The whole thing was _good_ and it was _Sam_ and Dean was feeling at peace for the time being.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

It was a little unsettling for Dean, sometimes, to come around a corner and be face to face with _Sam_.

As it was, everything had moved at whirlwind speeds and they'd come full circle before Dean had realized.

_Sam._

The Sam that lived in the house with Dean was _so_ very much like the Sam he had lost. There were slight differences, but then, this Sam hadn't lived through a full twenty plus years of experience.

The eyes were Sam's eyes. The multicolored, slanted eyes that had spelled Dean's doom from the first moment he'd seen them were exactly the same.

Sam began to look at Dean a little differently. There were times when Dean would catch Sam staring at him. It was a little like being studied.

One afternoon, Dean was outside reading. Even though he had to wear a warm jacket, he loved sitting outside in the sun and reading a good book. It was peaceful and refreshing. All Dean could hear were the waves crashing into the shore and some seagulls that were riding the wind.

That particular afternoon, Dean could see Sam racing back from the mainland in the Zodiac. He wasn't sure what Sam did while he was away. Some of his time was spent on Diving classes, most of it was probably socializing.

Dean had mixed feelings about Sam being out on the town. He wasn't jealous. It was just strange. There was no reason for Dean to worry about Sam. At six foot five and over two hundred pounds he could take care of himself.

But Sam wasn't the kind of guy that people picked fights with. He'd grown up, _again_ , to be the kind of man people wanted to get to know. He was funny, intelligent, energetic and surprisingly gentle. He was also a little mysterious in an enticing way.

By the time Dean returned from being lost in his memories, he could see Sam docking the Zodiac. Building the short dock had been one of Sam's many projects. It was perfect for the shallow keeled Zodiac.

Dean enjoyed watching Sam move. He'd lost the clumsiness of youth; now he was graceful and fluid.

After he had tied off the Zodiac, Sam waved up at Dean. Dean held up his hand for a moment then began reading again.

Eventually, Sam's heavy hiking boots clunked on the steps up to the Deck. "I got you a present."

Looking up, Dean smiled. "Well, hello to you _too_ , Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes and dropped his bag by Dean's chair. Once his hands were stuffed into his jacket pockets, Sam shrugged. "I guess if you don't want it."

Dean tossed his book onto the empty chair beside him. "No fair. You told me; you have to give it to me."

Sam's laughter made Dean feel a little warmer.

"Close your eyes," Sam ordered.

Dean did as he was told.

"Hold out your hands."

Dean held out both hands. He felt Sam's warm fingers as he moved Dean's hands closer together.

A square shape, heavier than Dean expected, was placed on Deans upturned palms. There was a faint smell that Dean recognized.

"Open your eyes," Sam said happily.

The old, leather bound book was "Tale of Two Cities" by Charles Dickens. Dean trailed his fingertips over the embossed title.

"Kim said it's a first edition. I traded in some of my old books. You said it was one of your favorites. You told me you learned something important from it."

It touched Dean that Sam remembered so much of what he'd told him. Dean suspected that Sam would have had to trade in more than _a few_ of his books to get a Dickens first edition. "It's beautiful, Sam. Thank-you."

As Sam's smile softened, his cheeks became a little pinker. "You're welcome. Thank you for … taking care of me."

"It's never been a chore," Dean said quietly. His fingers were still moving over the leather book cover. He'd probably read the book ten or twelve times but he would, gladly, read it again.

Tilting his head slightly, Sam knelt at Dean's feet. It was something Sam used to do all the time when he was a kid. Oddly enough, Sam still looked comfortable sitting on the wooden deck.

"Good Day? Dean always tried to ask open-ended questions about Sam's whereabouts.

"It was interesting. It was the final diving class today. Went out for a drink after with some of the guys." Sam tucked his hair behind his ear.

"Did you have fun?"

"Yeah. It was good." Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card which he held up for Dean to see.

It was a Scuba Diving license with a rather goofy looking photo of Sam on it. "Sam! That's awesome." Dean put the book on the chair beside him so he could take the card and look a little closer. "Really great."

"Gabe said I'm a natural diver. He took us _drift_ diving."

"What the hell is that?"

Sam got that glint of excitement in his eyes that Dean loved. "Dean, it's like flying. You enter a current and it just pulls you along. Gabe knew this one well. So it wasn't dangerous. It was amazing. He said he'd gladly take me diving anywhere. It was great."

"Sounds like it," Dean said. He was _so_ happy that Sam had found his way back to diving. It seemed like an integral part of Sam's make-up.

"Thanks, Dean."

"For what?" Leaning back a little, Dean folded his arms tight across his chest.

"For always being so supportive. You've … you've been great about everything." Sam pressed his lips together tightly and dropped his gaze.

For a few moments, Dean was uncertain what to say. He reached down and smoothed Sam's hair down with his hand. He loved the feel of Sam's hair; it was soft, warm from the sun. "It's been a pleasure, Sam. Every moment."

Sam's smile morphed into a grin. "Even that time I made the spider web in my room by tying everything up with string?"

"Well, you were always creative." Dean couldn't help laughing. The day was clear in his mind. Sam had basically knotted and strung himself into a corner. But he had looked _so_ pleased with himself. "You were very proud of yourself that day."

"Work of Art." Sam laughed and looked up at Dean.

Sam was gorgeous. Dean's mouth went dry and it became a little harder to breathe. He reached down again but this time he ran the backs of his fingers over Sam's cheek.

The expression on Sam's face changed, his eyes darkened, and his tongue moved over his bottom lip _very_ slowly. His lashes fluttered closed and he let out a sigh.

The smile on Sam's face was a little crooked. His lashes looked dark against his cheeks and Dean had to fight the urge to run his fingertip along the edge of them.

Sighing, Dean sat back a little. He froze when Sam opened his eyes. For a while, He just stared up at Dean then he knelt up a little higher and set his hands on Dean's thighs to help himself up.

Sam groaned, and chuckled as he struggled upright. "I'm getting old."

Dean rolled his eyes as he stood. "Oh, give me a break."

Sam looked down and he was suddenly _right_ in front of Dean. The tips of their noses almost touched. Sam's eyes widened and he swayed closer then stepped back.

If Dean were able to breathe, he may have said something. He'd never dared to hope that anything would happen between the two of them. But that fleeting instant sparked something to life in his chest.

There was a puzzled frown on Sam's face as he stood. He lingered there for a while. Dean wasn't sure if Sam was trying to come up with something or if he, too, was confused by unfamiliar feelings.

The moment passed as abruptly as it had begun and Dean wasn't sure it had even happened.

The day wasn't over though.

It had been fairly late already when Sam had come home. Once they were both inside, they started preparing dinner.

One of Sam's favorites was on the menu. Earlier in the day, Dean had cut up some vegetables in preparation. Once Sam was there, Dean got him cracking eggs and grating cheese for a Quiche.

The moved around each other easily in the kitchen. Sam told Dean all about his final ocean dive and all the marine life they had seen. He talked about wanting to do some ecological work and had even filled out a volunteer application at a place that Gabe had recommended.

Sam laughed when he talked about his diving buddy, Andy. He said that they'd been a good team but that Andy was even more serious than Sam.

Dean found that level of intensity a little difficult to believe. He'd never met anyone who got more caught up in the things he loved than Sam.

While Sam was pouring the egg mixture into the crust covered baking dish, he glanced surreptitiously at Dean out of the corner of his eyes.

"I can always tell when you're wanting to ask me something," Dean said with a smile on his face. "Spit it out."

Staring intently down at the quiche he was fussing with, Sam took a deep breath. "I was wondering . Andy and I were talking about getting together. You know? Staying in touch now we won't be diving together."

"Makes sense," Dean said, and it did.

"Would it be okay if I brought him out here?" Sam seemed a little nervous.

"Of course, Sam. This is your home." As much as Dean meant that he really wanted to deny Andy access. The problem was that he wanted to deny Andy access to _Sam_ , not the house. That wouldn't be fair at all, though.

"Great. I've got his phone number. I'll give him a call." Sam grinned. "Cool."

"You like this Andy guy?" The question was hard to get out and Dean wasn't sure if it even sounded genuine.

Sam pulled the oven door open then slid the quiche onto the middle rack. As soon as the door was closed, Sam leaned back against the counter and locked his gaze on Dean. "I like him. He's very smart, and he's really funny."

"Funny is _always_ good," Dean said quietly. He was slowly wiping the counter but wasn't really paying attention.

"How do you tell if you _like_ a guy? You've dated a few guys, right?"

It seemed that the older Sam got, the more complicated his questions became.

"I. Yeah. I've dated a few men. I think it's unconscious at first. You just want to spend time with people, have fun. If it's meant to be, you'll just feel it." Dean was pretty pleased with his answer, considering that his stomach felt like it was tied in a knot.

Sam looked lost in thought for a while. It was a regular expression on Sam's face; he was a thoughtful man.

"Penny for your thoughts?" It was something that Uncle Bobby used to say to Dean when he was a kid. It had become an on-going joke for Sam and Dean.

"Inflation." Sam's expression softened. "I think you should pay, at least, ten dollars."

Dean leaned back against the counter at Sam's side. He stared straight ahead, arm pressed against Sam's. "Invite him out to the island, I can make myself scarce."

"You don't have to do that," Sam said quickly.

"Just thought you might like the place to yourself." It actually felt pretty good that Sam wanted him around.

"I'd like to know what you think of him," Sam said. He leaned against Dean for a few moments.

"God knows I never have a problem letting anyone know what I think." It was true. But, Dean wasn't quite sure how honest he would be about this Andy fellow.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Sam didn't seem to need Dean's opinion as much as he'd thought. Andy became a regular around their place on the weekends.

Dean didn't see them often, but that was just as well. Besides eating dinner together sometimes, Dean found he was left alone.

Andy came over to the island most Fridays. He and Sam would spend hours on the beach. They swam, fished, hiked. Sometimes, they just lazed around on the deck reading or - whatever it was that Andy did. Dean didn't invest much time in getting to know the young man.

Dean watched them sometimes. It broke his heart a little that Sam was so happy. But, it was what it was. He'd given Sam a second chance at life but he would never presume to tell Sam what to do with that life.

One evening Dean sat on the edge of his bed with his head held in his hands. The sounds of pleasure from Sam's bedroom had been unmistakable. Dean was cursed with the memory of Sam's moan, the sweet sound of the little cries of pleasure. Dean fell asleep that night fully clothed and lying on top of his quilt.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

In the morning, there was a knock on Dean's bedroom door. Sam never waited for a _come in._ , and Dean hear the door click open.

"Dean? We made you breakfast." Sam's voice was gentle.

Dean rolled over and rubbed at his face for a few seconds. Andy was almost hiding behind Sam. His golden, blonde hair caught the sunlight as he peered over at Dean.

"An omelet, hash browns, fruit salad and toast. Sound good?"

Sam inched closer, still holding the heavily laden tray.

"Thank you," Dean said. "You guys are great. Just set it down here. I'm not hungry just now."

After the slightest hesitation, Sam set the try down. He backed up a few steps then smiled. "Okay. There's coffee made for when you get up."

Dean smiled again and nodded. "Thanks."

The boys turned to leave and as the door closed, Dean heard Andy mutter something. Sam's clear reply was for Andy to _shut up_.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean got used to Andy's presence. Eventually, he even grew to like the guy a little. It helped that Andy loosened up as well with time; he even seemed relaxed enough to joke with Dean as time passed.

A strange quiet settled over Dean. There was, after all, nothing he would ever do to take away a moment's happiness from Sam.

On one hand, he had given Sam an invaluable gift. He'd given him a second chance at life. Sam might have many adventures ahead of him. Dean wondered, sometimes, if he was being punished for something he'd done in a past life. He'd hoped, in some crazy part of his brain, that Sam would just be naturally drawn to him. It didn't seem to be turning out that way.

One afternoon from where he was sitting on the deck, Dean could see Sam and Andy racing around on the beach like idiots. They had a soccer ball, but as far as Dean could tell there was no _actual_ soccer playing going on. That seemed par-for-the-course with Sam; he often made up his own rules for things as he went along. 

Every so often Sam would laugh at something Andy said. The familiar sound would make it to Dean on the cool ocean wind. It was the first time he'd been heard that beautiful laugh and _not_ been responsible for it somehow. It made him feel weary and he would have to look away for a while.

The cool ocean air made Dean's cheeks feel a little tighter. It would be fall soon and the weather would turn. That would mean fewer days suitable for a trip in the Zodiac. Dean knew it was inevitable that Sam would want to move back to the mainland.

As much as Sam loved the sea, he seemed to enjoy people too.

The sound of Sam's laugh was a little louder. It looked like they were moving towards the house. They'd all agreed to frozen pizza for dinner, not the best meal in the world but it meant no one had to cook and the dishes were limited. As usual, Dean would bow out early and try to fall asleep before-

"Dean!!" Sam called out from the edge of the water.

Dean should his head. He felt like Sam tried to include him so he wouldn't feel left out. Sadly, just being near Sam and Andy made Dean feel left out. It was just the way it was.

Sam started running towards the house. "I'll _make_ you go to the water!"

Dean couldn't help laughing. He watched Sam for a few seconds then realized he looked serious. Crossing the deck quickly Dean ran around the front of the house.

Sam had always been fast. He was so fast, in fact, that Dean could already hear Sam's boots landing on the rocky beach behind him.

"No, Sam!" Dean yelled as he darted to the left and headed straight at the ocean.

"Gonna get ya!" Sam called out and somewhere off in the distance, Andy laughed.

Dean _really_ needed to get out more. He used to be fit when he was on the mainland, but he was already breathing hard a couple of hundred feet from the house. He had about three seconds to regret giving up his exercise routine and then he was flying through the air.

It had been a while since Dean had rough-housed with Sam and he was a little unprepared for his strength.

Basically, Sam tackled him. Dean went flying one way, Sam the other and, off in the distance Andy laughed even louder.

Every molecule of air was knocked out of Dean's lungs but he still managed to get to his knees and crawl away from Sam.

"Oh, no, you don't," Sam growled. His hand smacked down on Dean's ankle and he held on tightly.

When Dean finally got his breath, he started to laugh. His arms gave out and he fell onto the sand and rocks with a grunt.

Sam grabbed both Dean's ankles and, somehow, managed to flip the man.

It might be time for Dean to find out more about what Sam did with his time because it was a bit like being manhandled by a prize fighter.

Laughter tore out of Dean's body as Sam straddled his legs. "Sam, stop it," he sputtered.

There was sand down the back of Dean's pants and he was pretty sure he could feel some seaweed stuck to his face.

"Oh no. You're mine now. Mr. Doesn't-Want-To-Have-Fun." Sam's face was all grin and dimples as he fell forward onto Dean's body. He pinned Dean's wrists to the beach with one big hand and squeezed his knees against Dean's hips.

The smile on Dean's face wavered a little. It wasn't a position he'd expected to be in; not that it wasn't _good_. But, yeah. There were so very many reasons for Dean _not_ to want to be there in that exact position.

Sam's hair tickled Dean's cheeks; it was a little like them being alone in their own hair-walled world.

Dean could feel the heat of Sam's breath on his lips. He flexed his hands a little but Sam was far too strong for him to do much. "Sam-"

"Now, I can do whatever I want with you," Sam said softly, his eyes locked with Dean's.

Dean was _stuck_ in one of those places he didn't want to be and that he _wanted_ to be in more than anything else. Sam was still, eyes intense and Dean felt like he would go completely mad.

"Whatever you want," Dean echoed. He had to. He'd never lied to Sam before. Not once.

Sam's eyes widened slightly, the pupils so big and dark that Dean could see his own eyes staring back at him.

"Sam! Come back to the house!" Andy yelled in the distance.

The sound of Andy's voice was an intrusion Dean could have done without. He shifted his hips slightly and froze. There was the unmistakable _press_ of Sam's arousal. Dean's heart felt like it had been jump-started by some kind of electrical charge.

Sam looked like he was teetering on the edge of a decision. His expression morphed into something Dean couldn't read clearly. Sam's face was closer, his breath faster and then he sat up.

When Sam looked over at the house, Dean found himself looking automatically in the same direction. Andy was standing on the deck staring at them. Then he turned and headed into the house resignedly.

Sam rolled to the side and onto his feet in one graceful movement. He was running before Dean had a chance to get up.

" _Jesus_ ," Dean whispered.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

The following week they'd had a few days of feeble sunshine. It was enough light though that Sam wanted to be outside and near the water. Dean wasn't crazy enough to get in the ocean; it was too cold. Sam, on the other hand, could rarely be kept out of it. Andy still seemed undecided; he had his jeans rolled up and was wading in the shallow water collecting shells.

Pulling the phone from his pocket, Dean checked the temperature again. It was too damned cold to be swimming in the ocean. He held up the towel he'd been keeping warm against his body and made eye contact with Sam.

Sam nodded and flopped back into the water one more time. When he stood, he ran both hands over his hair then shook the remaining water away.

The sun caught the water droplets on Sam's chest; they glistened and made Dean's throat feel dry.

Sam splashed his way out of the water, tugged his swim trunks up then swore under his breath. " _Now_ , I'm cold," Sam said as he rubbed at the goose flesh on his arms.

"What you are is crazy," Dean said. He held the towel open so Sam could step into it and wrap it around his body. His teeth were chattering when he turned to smile at Dean.

Andy trailed back along the beach. "We goin' in?"

Sam nodded. "I could use a nice, hot coffee."

"Guess I'll be making a pot of coffee," Dean grumbled.

"Aw, you love me, Dean," Sam said.

Andy laughed.

"It's your charming personality, Sam. It's irresistible."

The banter continued as they headed up the path they'd worn into the beach in front of their house.

"Hello," Sam said.

He'd come to a stop at the entrance to the deck. Dean leaned around to see what was barring Sam's way.

The obstacle was .. Mary Campbell.

"Who are you?" Sam asked.

Mary was staring, slack-jawed, at Sam.

Dean, on the other hand, was about three heartbeats from full on panic.

Andy pulled up short beside them and looked confused.

Mary tore her gaze from Sam's face long enough to smile sadly at Dean. She was so silent it was frightening.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Sam asked again. He glanced at Dean and shrugged as though he didn't know what to do.

Mary's head whipped back and she watched Sam as he took a step closer. "Do you want something, Ma'am. Do you need help?"

Glancing over his shoulder again, Sam's widened his eyes when he met Dean's gaze. "Dean, do you know this lady?"

Dean closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Mary was reaching for Sam's cheek.

The strangest thing was that Sam just stood there as Mary stroked her fingers over Sam's skin.

"What's going on?" Andy asked quietly.

Dean held his hand out to silence Andy.

Then everyone began moving. Mary brushed past Sam and headed north along the beach. Andy headed into the house discreetly and Sam rounded on Dean. "Dean? Who was that?"

Dean had no idea what gave away that he _knew_ Mary. Maybe it was just that he hadn't reacted to protect Sam.

Swallowing down the anxiety that threatened to overcome him, Dean turned and walked into the house. He went straight into his bedroom and closed the door. His heart was pounding against his ribcage and his head ached like he had a hangover.

A little time in his bedroom didn't change much. When Dean emerged he could smell the pizzas cooking. Andy was leaning against the counter, arms folded and Sam sat at the table. His shoulders were ridged, his face sullen.

"Who was that woman, Dean?"

Each time Sam asked him and Dean didn't answer, the vise around Dean's chest tightened a little. It hurt to feel so remote from Sam at a time when the young man was so desperately seeking answers.

"Not now, Sam. Please." Dean sat down at the table and avoided looking at the shock he knew was on Sam's face. Not once, had he ever refused to answer Sam's questions until that very moment.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Dean had no intention of telling Sam everything while Andy was there. It seemed to inappropriate. The conversation Sam and Dean needed to have was too intimate to be had in the company of Andy. It was something just for the two of them. And, if Sam stayed with Andy, why even reveal his origins? It had occurred to Dean that Sam might choose a completely different life than he'd lived the first time around.

That evening when Dean went to bed, he could hear the soft tones of Andy and Sam's voices through the wall. Sam raised his voice once and Dean heard Andy talking for a while after that.

It seemed intimate and private and Dean wished he could just turn his hearing off and go to sleep.

Sam's bedroom door clicked open and then Dean heard Sam's footsteps until they stopped just outside Dean's bedroom. The door cracked open and Sam padded into the room as he'd done so many times in the past. He sank down onto the side of Dean's bed without saying a word.

He was only wearing pajama pants and looked cold. Sam's fingers slid along the quilt until they slid over Dean's. "Dean? Who am I?"

Heart swelling and slowing, Dean shook his head slowly from side to side as tears welled in his eyes. He just wasn't ready to lose Sam.

"Please," Sam begged. "Who was that woman? Why did she...why did she seem to know me?" Sam's fingers slid between Dean's and he looked down at their hands; it wasn't that long ago that his hands were smaller than Dean's.

"Sam, please-"

There was a thump from the other bedroom.

"Sam?" Andy's voice was a harsh whisper.

Sam stood quickly and moved out of Dean's room silently; he slipped into the bathroom and closed the door loud enough for Andy to hear.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Dean was awake early. He couldn't hear any movement from Sam's bedroom so he started making breakfast. There was no way he could just sit there. There were far too many thoughts in his mind. All those ways he _should_ have told Sam his story along the way.

Dean had gone over the story of Sam's recreation hundreds of times in his mind. He'd tried every version possible and never found one that sounded right.

And now, Dean was left with no choice. He had to get the story out somehow; it had been trapped inside him so long it was starting to fester.

Someone was moving behind the door to Sam's bedroom. All Dean could do for a few heartbeats was stand there, waiting. He'd never felt so trapped in his entire life. He was trapped between an escape he didn't want and an impossibility he craved.

Andy was the first one out of the bedroom. "Morning, Dean."

Dean finished pouring some pancake batter onto the griddle. "Morning Andy. Set the table?"

"Sure," Andy said softly.

Dean stared down at the pancakes and remembered all the times they'd made pancake breakfasts together; Dean Cooking while Sam watched him like a hawk.

"Dean? Are you gonna talk to Sam? I know it's not my business-"

"You're right, Andy, it isn't," Dean said dully.

Andy sighed. "He's angry and hurt and there isn't anything that _I_ can do."

"Just-" Dean pressed his finger and thumb into his burning eyes. "I. I'm sorry, Andy. Please just-"

"Just what?" Sam said.

Something, not unlike fear, cooled the blood in Dean's veins. There was no way he could turn around. "Sit, you guys. I made pancakes."

Dean moved around the kitchen silently finishing up breakfast. He made toast and buttered each slice slowly and deliberately. All he was doing was prolonging the inevitable.

After a deep breath, Dean gathered some things up and turned to set them on the table.

Sam and Andy were seated already. Andy looked a little lost while Sam looked rigid and angry. Dean wasn't sure he'd ever seen Sam look angry before.

The plates clunked onto the table. Everything seemed to be making too much noise in the quiet room.

When there was nothing left to bring to the table, Dean sat down. "Help yourselves."

He put a couple of pancakes on his plate and took a piece of toast. It was a strange combination but he hadn't thought it through. Hell, he was having trouble thinking at all.

Finally, Andy picked up his coffee and took a drink. "It's good, Dean. Thanks."

Dean gave Andy a grateful smile. Then he jumped when Sam slammed the bottle of pancake syrup down onto the table.

Andy was so badly startled that he spilled coffee all over his hand.

No one moved for a few seconds as Sam fought to get the bottle open then he slammed the bottle against the table again, and again. The blows were so forceful that all of the cutlery on the table bounced.

Finally, Sam stopped and tried to open the bottle again. It was stuck even after all the banging. He stared straight into Dean's eyes for a few seconds then threw the bottle at the wall. The plastic bottle thumped into the wall, the lid popped open and brown syrup began to puddle on the floor.

Andy slid his chair back from the table, a horrified expression on his face.

Dean had _no_ idea what to do. He felt as though he were stuck there, frozen in some sort of punishment. When he realized he had absolutely no idea what to say, he looked down at the fork he still held in his trembling hand.

When Sam stood, he kicked his chair back so hard it fell over and then everything was deathly quiet again except for the sound of Sam's labored breathing.

Dean raised his head slowly until he met Sam's gaze. For the first time, he saw nothing but animosity there.

Unable to say anything, Dean shrugged ever-so-slightly and shook his head. He knew that he owed Sam answers; it was the least he owed him. But now that he'd seen the anger on Sam's face, the way his fists were clenched so tightly, Dean knew it would be the end. Even after a second time through, Dean wasn't ready to let go. _Not yet._

Andy started when Sam stepped around the table. He paused for a couple of seconds at Dean's side then he was gone and the bathroom door slammed shut so hard all the windows rattled.

"I. I can't stay here," Andy said quietly.

Dean's eyes were too tired to keep open so he just let them close. Nodding his head slowly he finally put his fork down. "Get your things together and I'll call the harbor taxi."

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

It was bitterly cold outside and by the time the harbor taxi had arrived for Andy, and Dean was frozen. He stood on the dock after the taxi set off, watching as Andy stared back at the island. The house only _just_ stood out against the grey sky by the time Dean headed for home. There was definitely a storm coming.

There wasn't a single light on in the house. If it weren't for the fact that Dean had seen their Zodiac docked, he would have thought that Sam had gone.

Even with an exit, Sam probably would have stayed though. He knew that Dean was the only one with answers.

The walk up to the house had never felt so long.

At least the house was warm when Dean closed the door behind him. He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up. The house was quiet and the door to Sam's room was closed. Dean locked the door, a silly habit left over from the mainland.

Maybe, he just wanted the illusion of safety where there was none. There sure as hell wasn't anything else in Dean's life at that moment that was feeling particularly safe.

He kicked off his boots and headed over to his bedroom. It was cold in his room and Dean shivered. He flicked the light switch on and rubbed at the dull ache in the back of his neck.

"Who was that woman, Dean?"

"Fuck." Somehow, Dean hadn't even seen Sam sitting on the edge of his bed. Adrenaline shot through his system and he leaned back against the wall as he tried to steady his breathing. "We need to talk, Sam."

"No shit. I believe that's what I keep trying to do. But you're just not answering me." Sam's hair was tousled and dull, his skin flushed. The way he was wringing his hands was unsettling.

"Sam, just calm down. I just got back."

"So? _So?_ " Sam stood and closed the distance between them.

Dean pressed back against the wall, unconsciously. Distance seemed like a very good idea and he had a feeling that Sam didn't intend to give him much.

Sam's eyes were ablaze. He closed them for a few moments and lifted his head like he was trying to get hold of himself.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. When Sam lifted his hands, Dean flinched then felt guilty instantly.

All Sam did was lay his hands on the wall on either side of Dean's head.

It was only the suggestion of being _held_ there but it was enough for Dean to rub his hand across his chest. The ache he could feel there was beginning to become familiar and not at all welcome.

"Who was she?"

Sam's breath smelled like whisky. Sam had had a drink a few times. But then, Dean was beginning to realize that Sam was _different_. As soon as he'd started leaving the island, he'd begun living a life that Dean was no longer part of.

"She - you've. You've never met her Sam," Dean said. It was the truth, but not the right one.

Their gazes locked and Dean felt it everywhere in his body. He didn't know what Sam was going to do and it was a horrible feeling.

Suddenly, Sam's expression softened. His eyebrows lifted, his forehead creased and tears brimmed in his eyes. "You're the only one who knows who I am, Dean."

Dean's next breath was trapped by an invisible vice and he let out a helpless sound, like a choked sob.

Sam stepped back and pointed his finger at Dean's chest. His upper lip curled slightly and then the finger curled into his palm and his fist shook. "The problem is that I don't know who you are. Do I?"

Dean pressed shaking fingers to his forehead. It felt like there was a knife stabbing through his skull every time his heart pulsed blood through his body. "Sam, please."

"Fuck you, Dean." Sam's voice was thick, trembling and unsteady. He walked out of the room so quickly Dean felt the rush of air filling the space he'd just occupied.

Dean heard Sam moving around, and then he heard the front door slam. The horrible silence swallowed Dean up again and he pressed his palm over his mouth.

It was like being on a runaway train. If he jumped off he'd break his neck but if he stayed on he'd just be going along for the crash.

Dean let his body go and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. It felt like a decade had passed since he'd woken up that morning because Dean felt older. He was stiff and aching and exhausted. Every bit of _bad_ he felt was his own fault.

"What the _fuck_ was I thinking?" He cradled his head in his hands for a while. It was the first time in his life he had no _fucking_ idea what he was supposed to do next.

When Dean looked up he could hear the first rumblings of the storm. He wouldn't even be able to hear the Zodiac if Sam tried to leave the island.

He was still trying to figure out how things had gotten so out of control when the rain started pelting against the roof.

It grew colder in the house as time passed and suddenly Dean couldn't stop shivering. Slowly, every muscle protesting, Dean climbed up onto his bed. He collapsed face-down and yanked the quilt over his body.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

It was dark when Dean awoke again. He had no idea what time it was but the storm was still raging. A flash of lightning revealed Sam. He was sitting on the floor by the head of the bed and leaning back against the bedside table.

Dean rolled onto his side and turned on the small lamp behind Sam. In an odd twist of fate, the light didn't reach Sam's face. His expression was hidden in shadow.

"This is the last time I'm going to ask, Dean. Tell me … something."

Dean was still exhausted and everything felt a little surreal. It was like being disoriented after waking from a nap in unfamiliar surroundings..

Dean had only one place to start. "I met a boy a long time ago. Down on the beach. He was one of the best people I ever-"

"What boy?" Sam said harshly. "Who cares?"

"Sam, please. That's how all of this started!" Dean levelled Sam with his gaze but it was easy for Sam to just look away.

"That woman-"

"Was your mother, Sam." It came out more because of desperation than anything else. Words needed to be spoken and Dean was at a loss for a way to get them out.

This time, Sam looked up so he could see Dean's face.

"I. Wh-what? I don't know her." Sam's eyes widened and his mouth fell open as though he was expecting to find something else to say. He didn't.

"She is Mary Campbell and you are Sam Campbell." Sam had always had his own last name. Dean only kept a few things from Sam really. The best policy had seemed to be staying with as much truth as possible.

As Dean watched Sam, he could see the way the muscles tensed in Sam's jaw.

Dean leaned over the edge of his bed and lifted the quilt. He slid out a heavy looking box. The edges were worn. Dean had pulled the box out _so_ many times since he'd lost Sam. Everything in that box was what was remained of the Sam that he had fallen in love with.

Still staring up at Dean, Sam opened the worn lid. He pulled out a power cable and then a laptop. It was silver where it was uncovered. Most of it, however, was covered with stickers that Sam had collected.

When Sam hesitated, Dean nodded. "That's everything you want to know."

Dean got comfortable on the bed and Sam set up the laptop. It took a few moments to boot up and then Dean could only see Sam's eyes over the top of it.

And Dean knew _exactly_ what was on the laptop; he'd seen it all hundreds of times. There were moments when he'd felt like he'd gotten to know more about Sam from the damn laptop than from the short time they were together.

And _this_ Sam. _Dean's_ Sam. He was familiar in so many ways but he was also very different. When the idea to clone Sam had first come to Dean it had seemed so simple. The choice had been so obvious to his broken heart.

Nothing seemed obvious in light of Sam's anger and frustration.

All six foot five of Sam's frame was hunched up in front of the laptop. His hair was dull and tangled. The skin on his cheeks was pale, his bottom lip red where he'd been chewing on it. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked older. _That_ was all Dean's fault.

The light from the computer screen moved over the curves of Sam's face. There were silent tears trailing down his cheeks and Dean had to turn away. He knew exactly what Sam was learning.

Sam was learning that he had been someone else, that some of his life had been lived before but not by him. There was no way for Dean to make that feel any better. It was what it was.

There were no magic words that would give Sam direction; there was nothing that would make him understand why Dean had chosen the path that Sam now had to follow. It wasn't fair and Dean could see all that now - clear as a bell.

Time passed in that mystical way it has of moving without leaving any sign. Dean was only half aware of the room around him, the ebb and swell of the storm. He lay on his side, Back towards Sam and stared out at the rain. The violence of the storm seemed fitting somehow.

Sam made very little noise as he moved through the life that was laid out on the laptop in front of him. As far as Dean could tell, Sam hardly moved. It was eerie and unsettling.

And then, at some point, the laptop clicked shut.

It took a lot of courage for Dean to roll over and face Sam. What he saw was incredibly painful.

Sam looked completely crushed. There was _no_ sign of the lively spirit that was usually visible in everything Sam did.

His cheeks were still damp and his eyes were blood shot. He looked like hell and he was still sitting as still as stone with one hand lying on top of the laptop .

Dean reached out but before he could touch Sam he was frozen under the man's glare.

"Don't," Sam said flatly.

Another stab right into the middle of Dean's chest. It was different this time. He knew he deserved it. But there was something so frightening about Sam's lack of emotion and the way he was pushing Dean away.

"Sam. I. I should have found a way to tell you sooner. I know that. But you mean so much to-"

"I don't even _know_ you."

Dean closed his eyes for a few heartbeats. He was losing Sam, but he was only just beginning to realize that he'd never really had him.

When Dean opened his eyes again Sam was still staring at him, but his facial features had hardened somehow. "Dean. I don't know who I _am_ now."

There was only the slightest waver in Sam's voice, but the fierce gaze - well, it looked entirely too close to hate.

"I need some air," Sam said.

"Sam?"

"Not now." It was so final sounding that Dean's mouth closed automatically

Sam looked a little unsteady as he got to his feet. He swayed back and forth a little and Dean held his breath. But Sam said nothing, just turned and walked out of the bedroom.

After a little while, Dean heard the front door open, the rage of the storm and then the door slamming shut. He had no idea how far Sam was going. He had no idea if he was planning on coming back. He was surrounded by nothing but unknowns. And it was the worst feeling in the world.

There was a brutal ache in Dean's back from laying there so tense for so long. Groaning, he clambered off the bed and limped out into the living room.

It was so strange standing there in the house, he was looking at things he'd always looked at, taken for granted and now everything was so different. Nothing would ever be the same again for him or for Sam.

He paced over to the kitchen and ran the water while he hunted for a clean glass. The tremor in his hands made it a little difficult to hold the glass without spilling its contents.

After downing a glass of water, Dean set the glass down and leaned on the kitchen counter so he could look out the window. Through the streaks of windblown rain drops Dean could see Sam's silhouette.

The wind was whipping at Sam's jacket, tossing his wet hair in all different directions. Hands jammed in his pockets, Sam was facing the ocean as he did so often. It was just like Sam to turn to the ocean when he was so lost. That was certainly one constant, perhaps the only constant left for Sam. The ocean.

_Sam._

Dean wandered back to the bedroom. He'd lost track in his own mind of when he'd started thinking of the Sam he fell in love with as different from the Sam he had raised.

For all intents and purposes they were the same. Their environments had been different. But, damnit, Dean _did_ love the man who was out on the deck facing down the storm. It didn't matter where he came from; it didn't matter if he left and never looked back. Dean loved him. There was one other thing he was certain of; Sam couldn't forgive him for this.

The front door opened and Dean heard the wind still roaring. He spun and peered around the doorframe.

Sam was standing in the open doorway; his chest was heaving as he panted. He was soaked through, rain running in rivulets down over his face. The darkness in his eyes was more frightening than the absence of all that had been there before.

The door slammed shut as Sam swung around and strode towards Dean's bedroom.

Backing up a few steps, confused, Dean wasn't sure whether to get out of the way or rush towards Sam. It was an ongoing battle.

But Sam was heading straight towards him. He stopped _right_ in front of Dean. He was so close that Dean could feel the cold radiating off him in waves.

Sam's entire body was vibrating, shivering with cold and emotion.

It was Dean's natural reaction to reach up to touch Sam's but cheek but his hand was knocked away roughly.

Dean was so tired of the pain. He would be there to go through what he could but he didn't want to keep subjecting himself to the extra grief of being unceremoniously heaved out of Sam's life.

Nodding, Dean tried to push past Sam. The room was suddenly whirling past Dean's eyes and pain clawed at Dean's heart. Sam's long fingers dug into the flesh on the back of Dean's neck and he shoved Dean back into the bedroom.

"Sam-"

"Why did you do this?"

Dean tried to answer but the grip on his neck was making his throat tight and dry. A groan was wrenched free from him when Sam shoved him closer to the bed.

"You don't know what this is like, Dean." Sam's voice was thick with emotion. "I'm scared and I've never had to feel that before."

"Because of me," Dean rasped.

"All of this is because of you." Sam wrenched on Dean's neck to pull him tight against his chest. "Look at me. Everything is just broken and wrecked and-"

"Don't do this, Sam."

"I didn't do anything to deserve this," Sam spat.

Dean closed his eyes. He didn't even know whether to defend himself or to fight back or - _Jesus_ \- if he'd only thought about what the decision might do to Sam.

Sam pushed forward into Dean's body and slid his hand down to grip Dean's biceps. "I don't know who you are. I used to. It was like you were a big brother or something but then I began to _feel_ things for you that didn't seem right."

Dean stumbled slightly, trying to stay upright as Sam crowded closer. The ragged breath that was coming from Sam's raw lips was hot against Dean's cheek. The cold, damp of his jacket was soaking into Dean's shirt.

"I've always called you _Dean_ , never anything else. Even when I was little," Sam whispered against Dean's cheek bone.

Shivers were rippling down Dean's body. He couldn't overpower Sam even if he wanted to. He couldn't make Sam go through anything alone because he loved him.

Their foreheads bumped together and Sam held them there. Dean felt the bed behind his calves as Sam leaned forward again.

"Who are you, Dean?" Sam rubbed his forehead against Dean's as he slid his hand down Dean's arm until he could grab his hip. "Who are you to me?"

There were so many things Dean _could_ say but he wasn't even sure what the truth was anymore. All his thoughts - all his feelings were knotted up. All he wanted to do was take away Sam's pain and he had no idea where to even start.

The fingers on Dean's hip tightened and he winced at the pain.

"Why did you do this … this _thing_ to me?" Sam's cold lips were pressed to the height of Dean's cheek bone. "Why!?"

The yell was so loud that Dean visibly flinched back. He was left with a ringing in his ear and a pain in his stomach that was so bad he thought he was going to throw up.

"I loved you so much-"

"Loved?"

Dean shook his head but knew it was too late to take it back. It was panic, and fear and _just_ a wrong fucking choice of a single damned word.

"No," Dean said softly. "I do lo-"

Both of Sam's palms slammed into Dean's chest and his arms flailed out to try and catch himself. He was slammed down onto the bed and It felt like all the air was yanked right out of Dean's lungs.

Sam fell forward onto Dean and crawled up until he was looming _directly_ over Dean. "Who are you?" he whispered.

Tears blinded Dean and he reached up to try and slide his palm over Sam's cheek.

"Take your hands off me," Sam hissed.

Letting his hands fall back to the mattress, Dean sucked in a deep breath as the weight of Sam's body pressed him further down into the mattress.

Sam was _so_ close that Dean couldn't even focus on the man's face. But he _could_ see the dark of his eyes.

"Who am I, Dean?"

Sam's words moved his lips over Dean's. He shifted his leg up to part Dean's knees so he could settle between them.

Closing his eyes, Dean bit down hard on his bottom lip. The most bizarre mix of desire and hurt was battling deep inside of him. It was _all_ About Sam. The fiery breathing on his lips, the cold, damp of Sam's shirt, the crazy weight of Sam's body: it was insane.

"Dean-" Sam moaned; it was a torn sound, a little broken.

Nothing had ever felt better or worse to Dean. His hands curled into the quilt below them and he held on so tightly it made his fingers ache.

Sam's lips moved tentatively against Dean's and it was like there was no air left in the room.

Frozen there, not daring to even respond, Dean held his breath. Every muscle in his body was tensed and ached. It felt like he was being turned inside out.

"Sam," Dean whispered. Soft cool lips slid over his more firmly and Dean gasped into the wet press of flesh.

As Dean's mouth opened, Sam licked at it. His tongue was hot and smooth and Dean couldn't help the way his body was shaking.

Instinct took over and Dean closed his lips over the swell of Sam's bottom one. He braced himself for a blow that didn't come. His lashes fluttered open and all he could see were tears along Sam's lashes.

Sam moaned against Dean's lips and then their mouths were crushed together. All of Dean's nerves fired at once and his body jolted up into Sam's. Hanging on to the quilt for all he was worth, Dean offered up his mouth to Sam. Lips parted, tongue sliding forward, Dean could feel his heart seizing up in his chest.

 _God_ he loved Sam. He'd loved him from the first moment they'd met. It was insane and perfect and frightening and it would never be over for him.

Still trembling, Sam slid his mouth back and forth over Dean's. He leaned on one hand and slid the other over Dean's chest. His tongue glided deep into Dean's mouth, seeking and claiming. It was forceful and hesitant at the same time.

Dean was sure Sam could feel the pounding of his heart. His pulse was racing so fast he just couldn't keep his hands on the quilt any longer. Tongue lapping at Sam's bottom lip, Dean reached up and gripped the damp bulk of Sam's jacket. He'd _never_ get close enough.

Suddenly, Sam reared back and Dean recoiled, awaiting a reaction. The jacket swept over Dean's face as Sam tugged it off. After he threw it aside he pulled, almost frantically, at his wet t-shirt.

Taking, yet another, chance Dean grabbed the bottom of the soaked material and eased it up Sam's back until he could help lift it off.

Sam stared down at Dean, their eyes locked. He threw the t-shirt aside and lowered himself slowly back onto Dean's body.

As soon as their lips were back together, heat slithered down Dean's body. He couldn't help running his hands over Sam's exposed skin. It was cool and hot at the same time - still damp, covered in goose flesh.

Hundreds of times he'd touched Sam since the day he'd first held him in his arms. But _these_ touches were so very different.

Arching up, Dean moaned and the guttural sound of it set off a flurry of movement. Quickly, Sam's fingers began deftly undoing Dean's belt.

Sam's fingers moved clumsily, still cold, his hands trembling and barely under his control.

All Dean could do was concentrate on breathing as he let Sam strip off his clothes. His entire body was humming, his skin alive with every sensation.

And yet, he still wasn't prepared for the sensation of Sam's bare flesh covering his. The trembling was no longer from the cold, now, it was _want_ and crazy need and the intensity of every slip of flesh against flesh.

Sam's teeth scraped over Dean's collar bone, his lips trailing down his body.

Finally, Dean slid his fingers into Sam's long, damp hair. He gripped it tightly and Sam bit down on Dean's nipple at the same time. As the sensitive flesh hardened between Sam's lips, Dean could feel the burning weight of Sam's cock cradled in the furrow of his hip.

 _God,_ he wanted Sam. It was easier to breathe, with his hands on Sam's muscular back. His heart beat faster when Sam's mouth moved over his Adam's apple, then his jaw until he finally, captured Dean's mouth again. It was urgent, needy and Dean just gave in to Sam's wanting.

Sliding off Dean's body, Sam pressed up against Dean's side. His cock left a wet trail against Dean's hot skin. His hips rocked gently forward as his strong hand kneaded Dean's thigh.

Lifting his leg, Dean rolled away so he could press his ass back against Sam's arousal. Sam let out a low moan and ran his tongue along the curve of Dean's ear. "Who are you?"

The whispered words sent a ripple of emotion and desire down the surface of Dean's flesh. He said the first word that came to mind. "Yours."

Sam let out a small cry, it sounded almost like it was pained but then Sam was mouthing at the nape of Dean's neck as his arms curled possessively around Dean's body. He pulled Dean back against him; his hands flattened on Dean's belly and chest.

The burn of Sam's cock against Dean's ass was unbearably good. He tilted his hips back so he could feel more of Sam's heat. Sam's breathing was hard and fast across Dean's ear then he murmured words Dean couldn't hear over the shushing of his own blood in his ears.

It was intoxicating; Dean's heart beat so fast he felt dizzy and weak. But Sam held him tightly as he pressed his hips forward to slide his hardness along the cleft of Dean's ass.

Dean couldn't help reaching back to grip Sam's thigh. He needed to hold onto him, he needed to know it was real. The way Sam was clutching at his body, Dean knew it felt like a good-bye. As painful as that was he would never be able to stop it. The intensity of it was too much; there was no going back.

Dean reached for the top drawer in the night table. It had been a while since he'd had any reason to use lube. He wasn't sure what kind of experience Sam had...it didn't really matter, nothing mattered but Sam.

On the next sweep of Sam's hand over his belly, Dean smeared a coating of lube onto Sam's palm, a clear invitation. 

For a time, Sam was almost still and Dean thought he had crossed a line. Then he felt the weight of Sam's forehead pressed to the back of his skull. Sam's ragged breath made the short hairs on Dean's neck dance against his skin.

He was sure he felt hot tears against his neck, the gentle pressure of a sweet kiss just behind his ear. He was _almost_ sure. There were so many sensations he was only half aware of. There was so much sensitivity in his flesh and a yearning he'd never experienced before deep inside him.

As Sam's hand withdrew, Dean felt the heat go up in his body. It was terrible feeling the hint of Sam's movement behind him. He had to wait for that final judgment, Sam's decision.

The slide of cool, slick fingers against Dean's quivering flesh was his answer. There was no finesse to it, the way Sam thrust his fingers into Dean's ass. It was the bare minimum and Dean didn't care. As Sam's fingers pushed insistently at the ring of muscle, Dean bit down on his bottom lip so hard the coppery tang of blood filled his mouth. He relaxed slightly and Sam's long fingers slid into his body.

Dean remembered the strangeness of the feeling. It was a dull pain, distant somehow but it faded quickly. The intense fire of pain morphed back into the burning ember of need.

There was a silent demand in the way Sam grabbed Dean's hip. He repositioned Dean closer, his left arm snaked under Dean's neck and curled up to grasp the opposite shoulder.

Acutely aware of the upper hand Sam had claimed, Dean curled a hand over the corded tendons in Sam's arm. The loop didn't tighten any further but it didn't loosen either.

Sam took a deep breath and blew it out, open mouth pressed to Dean's shoulder blade.

Shaking, Dean turned his head slightly, until he could rest his cheek against Sam's strong forearm. He wanted his nose against the smooth, cool skin; he wanted to be able to draw _his_ Sam in with each breath, keep him in that place near his heart where he kept the Sam he loved, the Sam who had wanted him.

The blunt width of the head of Sam's cock pushed for entrance and Dean's body only resisted a moment before tempting Sam further forward.

Dean could feel Sam's hand guiding his cock forward, the brush of rough curls against the cheek of his ass. Dean felt _everything_. He felt _everything_ until the moment Sam's width slid completely inside his ass and then he felt _only_ that.

He'd always been wrapped up in Sam and this was his chance to blanket the man; draw him in. They were _together_ even if it was only _for now_.

A thrust of Sam's powerful body made Dean call out his name. _Sam_. It was all that was going through Dean's mind.

Sam's lips moved over Dean's ear; his breathing was raw and irregular. "Dean, I wanted - I need…"

All Sam seemed able to do was finish the sentence with a moan. The sound was deep and like an open wound. It was honest and full of emotion and made Dean close his eyes.

The long curve of Sam's frame fit perfectly to Dean's back. Locked together they swayed slightly. A little forward, a little back. Then Sam pulled his hips back; his cock slid _almost_ free of Dean's ass. Dean's nails dug little half-moons into Sam's wrist. The very instant Sam's grip on Dean's shoulder tightened to painful, the man snapped his hips forward and thrust deep into Dean once more.

It was one of these moments Dean had idealized over the years, and it was just as flawless in reality.

Sam's cock was thick, long, and Dean felt flooded with the man. It was so close to being too much that Dean felt the burn of tears behind his eyes.

Sam moved again. He would withdraw the heat of his cock just far enough then bury himself again in Dean's ass. It was an uninterrupted rhythm, shocking Dean towards pleasure a little more with each thrust.

As each thrust hit home, Dean could feel his heart racing. His free hand moved to slide over his chest, his abs, down to his own aching hardness.

Sam's hips slammed forward and he bit down on the top of Dean's shoulder. Dean pushed back, finally so frustrated he could hardly breathe. He wanted Sam to touch him, not just hold him there.

Twisting towards Sam, Dean grunted when the arm around his neck tightened. Sam's other hand curved over Dean's hip. It was a little rough, Sam almost shook him. "What d'you want, Dean?"

Dean clamped his teeth down onto his bottom lip again. The fresh pain of it made him moan and struggle to free himself from Sam's hold. But, it was pointless. It was impossible for Dean to be committed to breaking away.

Instead, Dean slid his hand to the base of his own cock and squeezed tightly to quell his pleasure.

"I know what you want," Sam whispered as he thrust shallowly. Back and forth, he slid _in_ a heartbeat, _out_ a heartbeat. Like an itch Dean couldn't reach it drove him insane.

He could feel Sam trembling with the effort it took to hold back, reign in the way he wanted to pound into Dean.

"Sam," Dean grunted out. He clawed at Sam's wrist, hips rocking forward to try and slide his aching flesh against the quilt. Anything. Contact.

The strength of Sam's grip was frightening. He could hold Dean _so_ still it was like torture.

Then everything changed again. Sam's hand slid forward and covered Dean's, squeezing his swollen cock.

A hot wave of desire flooded through Dean's body leaving him rattled and boneless. His hips twitched weakly and he dropped his chin to suck greedily on the salty skin at Sam's wrist.

The hard pounding began instantly. Sam was so _deep_ inside him, the stretch achingly _right_. Long fingers curled around Dean's cock, sliding up then back down and he lost the last of his control.

His breath out was a continuous moan against Sam's arm. His hands both held onto that arm, holding it there, keeping Sam wound around him.

And Sam slid deep into Dean again and again. Their bodies were warmed; Sam's chest was sticky against Dean's bare back. The only sounds were their moans, harsh breathing, the slap of skin against skin.

Dean's nostrils were filled with the musky, thick scent of sweat and sex and he sucked it in greedily.

He lost track of everything around them but the aching sweetness of Sam's thick cock shoving into his ass.

Sam's thrusting faltered, his breath almost wheezed out and he let out the most perfect sound against Dean's ear. Goose flesh skittered down Dean's body and a tremble tore through him. His hips snapped forward and he felt Sam's thumb sweep over the weeping head of his cock, then he came.

The pleasure that shot through Dean blinded him and knocked the breath right out of him. Sam growled. His hips slammed forward again and he hit his peak.

Wave after wave of sweetness rolled over Dean as his orgasm worked him over. Sam's mouth was open against Dean's neck, both arms encircled Dean's body and held him so close it was hardly possible to breathe. Dean didn't care. If he took his last breath in that moment it would be perfect.

They rode it out together, locked there in that tiny space they'd created. They had, somehow, found a place for a handful of moments where all the rest of the world didn't matter. _A handful_.

As the world settled around Dean again, he could feel Sam's body shaking against him. The hold around Dean's neck had loosened and Dean struggled to spin around.

There were tears streaking down Sam's cheeks, his mouth open and silent.

"I'm so sorry," Dean whispered. He hadn't realized until that moment how sorry he was, how much he'd lost.

This time, it was Dean who wrapped his arms around Sam's body. There was a second of resistance, that _fight_ that was always in Sam, and then he gave in.

The way Sam sobbed against Dean's chest was strangely comforting. It was harsh and real and Dean felt so _present_ and _there_. He hadn't felt like that in a very long time. His hand smoothed over Sam's damp hair, fingers finally slipping into it to hold on as tightly as he could.

Dean would stay there and hold Sam for every single tear; he'd stay as long as Sam wanted him to.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

The morning had the odd stillness that often follows a storm. The air was still moist and heavy but the ocean had calmed. The waves were smaller, the rush of water quieter.

The morning had been oddly familiar. Dean had woken before Sam. He'd laid there and stared at Sam for a long time. He'd studied the man's face, the gentle curve of his nose, the way his lips were just a little asymmetrical. The pattern of moles on Sam's face was so familiar to Dean that he hardly noticed them anymore.

When Sam's eyes had finally opened he had stared directly into Dean's for the longest time. Eventually, he smiled sadly and ran the pad of his thumb along Dean's bottom lip. Then he rolled off the bed and padded to the bathroom.

Like so many mornings, Dean dressed and headed into the kitchen. He put a pot of coffee on, just the way Sam liked it. There were some muffins he'd frozen so he got them out to thaw while he had some coffee.

His favorite chair was near the front window. He'd spent many mornings with his hands curled around a mug of hot coffee, staring out at the waves rolling in. He couldn't imagine being anywhere else. _With or without Sam._

It took a while for Sam to shower. Clad only in a towel, he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and left dark, damp footprints on the hardwood as he went straight to the coffee pot.

Dean watched as Sam fixed himself a coffee. He watched as Sam grabbed an apple off the table. He watched as Sam padded back to his bedroom. It was strange how all those everyday things could suddenly seem so important.

Dean just waited.

When Sam came out of this room later he was fully dressed. His hiking boots were on. He was packed. He'd never really had a lot but he'd packed his large back pack.

On the next beat of Dean's heart, he was certain it fell down through his body. But it was, he thought, what it was.

He gave Sam a half smile before rolling his lips together and nodding.

Sam's jacket rustled as he slid his arms into it. He picked up his backpack and swung it over one shoulder.

Sam was already moving towards Dean when he looked up. He stopped at Dean's side and leaned down to kiss Dean's temple gently. He lingered there long enough to whisper, "Thank you."

It wasn't until the door closed and he was left alone that Dean really believed that Sam was leaving him.

Sam was gone.

 **XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx** Epilogue: Seven Months Later **XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

The sun was warm on Dean's face. The window beside his favorite chair was wide open. All the Spring heat was _very_ welcome.

His coffee was good. He'd been to the mainland and found a new roast that he really liked. It was nice to enjoy the woody taste at the start of the day. He was enjoying his first sip of a new cup when the front door clicked open.

Dean's mug banged against the sill as he set it down. No one had come to the house since Sam had left months before - Dean's heart was in his throat.

He stood, turning towards the door in time to see it swing open for Sam.

There was a strange clenching sensation pooling within Dean's chest and there wasn't a word he could get past his lips.

Sam looked good. His skin was a little darker with a light tan, his hair was a bit more blonde but it suited him. He looked _good_.

Dean opened his mouth, didn't manage to say anything, closed his mouth and shrugged with a sad smile on his face.

_Sam._

Sam set his backpack down and looked around as though he were relieved that everything was still there.

He took a tentative step towards Dean. "Hey."

Dean laughed softly. After seven months. "Hey."

Another few steps brought a tentative looking Sam to Dean's side.

Dean had to close his eyes when the vaguely familiar scent of Sam's hair hit him.

"I'm here," Sam said quietly.

There was a burn in Dean's eyes that he hadn't felt in a few months. He kept them closed, hoping to put off the inevitable realization that his mind had created the scene in front of him.

"If it's okay, I wanna stay" Sam whispered against Dean's temple.

There wasn't enough air in Dean's lungs for him to get an answer out. He groaned softly.

"I know we have things ... There's a lot to talk about; so much to say," Sam said quietly as his fingers slid under the bottom hem of Dean's t-shirt.

Dean shivered, eyes opening quickly as he pulled away enough to be able to see Sam's expression.

"Dean? Can I come home?"

A smile curved onto Dean's lips and he let out a shaky sigh as he nodded. _Of course_ , Sam could come home. Dean had been waiting there, hoping and he would have waited as long as it took. The last of Dean's worries faded into nothing as Sam's lips slid over his.


End file.
